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PAGES AND PICTURES, 



THE WRITINGS 



JAMES FENIMORE COOPER, 



WITH XOTES 



BY 

SUSAN FENIMORE COOPER. 



lUnstratcb, on ,S>tEcl anb JSloob, from (Drininal ptabings. 



NEW YORK: 

W. A TOWNSEND AND COMPANY 

1861. 



v«v 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and sixty-one. by 

W. A. TOWNSEND & CO., 
in the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New York. 






C. A. ALVORD, PRINTER, NEW YORK. 



TO 

COMMODORE WILLIAM BRAOTORD SHUBRICK, 

OF THE 

UNITED STATES NA\'Y, 

THE FRIEXD OF HIS EARLY YOUTH AND OF HIS LATEST TEARS, 

FKOil THE WRITINGS OF JAMES FEXIMORE (JOOPKK, 

ARE VERY RESPECTFULLY, 

AND 

AFFECTIONATELY, 

INSfcRIBED, 

BY THE EDITOR. 




PREFACE. 



The earlier works of every national literature must always possess 
an interest jiecnllar to tliemselves ; an interest wHcL. may even, to a 
certain degree, be independent of any merit of tHeir o^Yn, and natm-ally 
connected with tlie period to which they l)elong. There can be nothing, 
of course, of the peculiar charm of remote time connected with any 
work dating with the present century : if, in the quaint ballad, the laide 
chronicle of early English wi'iting, the figures all move, as it were, amid 
the long shadows of the dawn, thrown into high and picturesque relief 
by the morning light, we are prej^ared for something far less striking and 
peculiar in the form of any literatiu-e coming into being in the noontide 
of full civilization. Still, there will always be something of a peculiar 
movement and coloring connected with the first intellectual work of 
every independent people ; something which gives claim to a degree of 
especial attention to the earlier volumes of every national library, how- 
ever brilliant may be those which fill succeeding shelves. And while 
a dozen years of American history, at this period of time, effect the 
changes which have requii'ed centuries with older nations, the fact gives 
already to works of the last fifty years, something of the interest of a 
past condition of existence. The writings of Mr. Fenimore Cooper, from 



PREFACE. 



their date ;iud theii' spirit, must always hold this position to the Ameri- 
can readei'. They jjossess another claim, also, which to the present hour 
is peculiar ; they flow fi'om a fountain more copious than any other 
opened, until now, on the same soil ; it is l^elieved that no author this 
side of the Atlantic has written so fully. A long succession of works 
possessing merit in themselves, I'eaching to so large a number, and cover- 
ing, in their composition, so long a jieriod of time, must always possess 
a degree of importance which cannot Ijelong to any isolated book. Each 
work, in a series of this nature, ap})ears not only in its individual char- 
acter, but also as a member of a grouji ; if the Avritings have any merit 
singly, they carry with them additional value in theii* full literary com- 
pany ; each, like the pearl in a chain, giving and receiving something of 
lioht and worth, as it is found linked with others. 

The volume now open l)efore the reader, contains a selection of 
episodes from the writings of Mr. Fenimore Cooper, illustrated, it is 
scarcely necessary to observe, Ijy artists of acknoAvledged merit. Con- 
nected with the extracts, will l;)e found notes relating to the different 
works whence the images have been dra^ATi. It was at first the intention 
to give a passage from each of the different works of the imagination 
from the same pen ; but the size and nature of the volume, so copiously 
illustrated, have rendered it necessary to omit a portion of the series, 
and among these, several favorite works. It is hoped, however, that the 
book is sufiiciently complete in its present form to give pleasure to the 
reader from the variety of its passages, while the notes may aiford him 
a clearer idea than he has yet received, of a long and important series 
connected vnth American literature. 

s. F. c. 

COOPEESTOWN, iSep. 15t/i, 1860. 




CONTENTS. 



Introduction. — Precaution — First composition — Proud heroic romance — The ballad 
— The first sale — Elaborate imitation — Supposed English origin of the book — 
Extract — Charity, . . . . • • . .13 

n. 

The Spt. — -Westchester county and its traditions of the Revolution — Godfrey's Cave 
— Haunted wood — Uncle John — The Silver Grays — Conversation with Governor 
Jay — Origin of the book — An acute critic — Last chapter written and paged 
before those preceding it — Unlooked-for success — Extract, Harvey and his 
father in the cottage, . . . . . . . .26 

III. 

The Pioneers. — The author's boyhood — Lake Otsego — Master Cory — The organ — The 
Beggar's Petition — School-boy's journe)- to Albany — The great turnpike — A 
third book planned — Natty and Shipnian — il. Le Quoy — Hausman — Father 
Nash not the original of Mr. Grant — Indian alarm — Extract, Pigeon-shooting, . 48 

IV. 

The Pilot. — Conversation at the table of Mr. Wilkes — Sudden determination to 
attempt a tale of the sea — Generally discouraged by his friends — Paul Jones — 
The MS. read to a seaman — Full success of the book — Extractn, Battle of tlie 
Bon Homme Richard — The Frigate, . . . . . ,72 



C O N T K N T S . 



Lionel Lincoln. — Difficulties of the task — Character luitural, but author's sympathies 
not sufficiently aroused — Ralph — Job Pray — Legend of the Thirteen Republics 
—Extract, Battle of Bunker Hill, . . . . . .99 

VI 

The Last of the Mohicans. — Excursion — Catskill — Natty's description — English 
travellers — Lake George — Glenn's Falls — Promise given in the cave — First Lidian 
romance — The author's illness — Very rapidly written — Name of Horican — ^j- 
<raf/, Canoe-chase on the Horican, . . . . . .121 

VII. 

The Prairie. — Indian Deputations — Western tribes — The author's sketches of In- 
dian character — Xattv the Trapper— Poetical spirit of the books — Interview 
with Sir Walter ^e.oti— Extract, The Thicket on the Prairie, . . .142 

VIII. 

The Red Rover. — St. Owen — The terrace — The bourgeois in a punt — French fields 
— Hill at Newport — The Zenaida dove — S'ip and Fid — Extract, The Wreck of 
the Royal Caroline, . . . . . . . .174 

IX. 

The Wept of Wish-ton-wish. — Switzerland — La Lorraine — The Alps from Berne — 
Puritans and Indians — First view of Italy — The Casa Ricasoli — The Puritan 
lionsehold — Difficulties of printing — Extract, Narra-mattah, . . .197 

X. 

The Water Witch. — St. Illario — Leghorn — Naples — Casa Tasso — Tlie terrace — Sor- 
rento^Tlic Scaricatojo — ^The third nautical tale — Rome — Obstacles to printing 
— Dresden — Extract, Fire 1 ....... 220 

XI. 

The Bravo. — Journey from Rome — The Adriatic — Venice — Literary forgery — Gelso- 

mina — The well of the Casa Tasso — Extract, The death of Antonio, . .241 

XII. 

The Headsman. — Lake of Geneva — Vevey — Mountains of Savoy — Jean Desclou.x — 

Abbaye des Vignerons — Ranz des Vaches — Extract, Bruno and Ncttuno, . 264 



CO NT K X TS. 



XIII. 



The Monikins. — The author's enjo3-mcnt of liunior and pleasantry — ^j<rae<, Dr. 

Reasono, Sir John Goldencalf, and Captain Poke in conference, . . 274 

XIV. 

Homeward Bound. — Attacks — The author's defence of liis character - Trials — Success 

— His views of freedom of the press — Extract, The Arabs and Captain Truck, . 285 

XV. 

Home as Found. — Provincial spirit — Mr. Cooper's views as to tlie duties of literary 

men — His frankness — Extract, The Commodore of the Lake, . . . 299 

XVI. 

The Pathfinder. — Lake Ontario— The Oucida — Lament of Boniface in the forest — 
Grand military ball — Paddy and the blaze — Sailors and Indians — Xatty the 
Pathfinder— ^'j^rac/, Xatty a Lover, . . . . . .308 

XVII. 

The Deerslater. — The lake-road — Natty on the first war-path — The ark — Musk-rat 

castle — Floating Tom — Extract, The Rescue of Hist, .... 322 

SVIU. 

WiNG-AND-WiNG. — Cruisc of the Belle Genovese— Elba — Napoleon's house— The 
coast — Izola di Troja — Ischia — Le Feu FoUct— Will-o'-the-Wisp— Raoul — Ex- 
tract, The Death of Caraccioli, ....... 335 

XIX. 

Wyandotte. — Love of farming — Clearing — Indian character in a new form — Struggle 

between gratitude and revenge— ^j/rac?, Saucy Nick, .... 347 

XX. 

Satanstoe. — Colonial days — New York a hundred years ago — Journey from West- 
chester to town — Extract, Dirck and Corny, ..... 353 

XXI. 

• The Chainbearer. — The squatters — Thousandacres and Andries Coejemans — Moose- 
ridge — Extract, The Storehouse Prisoner, ..... 359 



10 



CONTKNTS. 



xxn. 



The Redskins. — Anti-rent — The author's views of the subject — Jurists' opinions 

of this seiies—Uxtract, Sunday at Kavensnest after the Incendiary Fire, . 366 

XXIII. 

Jack Tier. — Originality of the plot — Spirit of the work — Extract, AJulford on the 

Reef, . . . . . . . . . . 3V2 

XXIV. 

The Oak Openings. — Journey to Michigan — The writer's enjoyment of the excur- 
sion — Changes in the country — Prairie Ronde —The Chalet — The swarm of bees 
— Indian conquered by Christianity — Lines from diary — Extract, The Council 
Fire in the Oak Grove, ........ 379 

XXY. 

The Sea Lions. — Latest tale of the sea^SLelter Island — Tlie deacon — Mary — The 
writer's views of a great religious doctrine — The Antarctic seas — Extract, Sealer's 
Land, .......... 389 





ILLUSTRATIONS. 



ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL. 



SUBJECT. 


AnrisT. 


ENGRAVER. 


PAGE 


Portrait of J. Fenimore Cooper, 


C. L. Elliott, 


W. K Marshall, 


Frontispiece 


Otsego Hall, Residence of Mr. Cooper, 


J. A. Hows, 


R. Hinshelwood, 


Title-page 


The Wounded Indian, . 


F. 0. C. Da RLE Y, 


J. D. Smillie, 


16 


Down the Rapids, . 


J. Hamilton, 


J. AfcGoffin, 


24 


The Search, .... 


F. 0. C. Darley, 


L. Delnoce, 


36 


Journey over the Highlands, 


C. Schuessele, 


J. Dicthie, 


46 


The Di.sputed Prize, 


F. 0. C. Darley, 


F. Girsch, 


64 


Wreck of tlic Ariel, 


J. Hamilton, 


J. McGoffin, 


80 


Tom Coffin, .... 


F. 0. C. Darley, 


J. Wriffhtson, 


92 


The Rescue, 


ii 


S. A. Schoff, 


99 


The Retreat, . . .' . 


a 


T. F/ullibrown, 


110 


The Prisoners, 


'• 


James Smillie, 


121 


Waylaid Travellers, 


" 


J. D. Smillie, 


132 


Discovery of the Trapper, . 


J. Hamilton, 


G. H. C'ushman, 


144 


The Combat, .... 


F. 0. C. Darley, 


Sealey <& Smith, 


150 


Incident on the Prairie, 


J. Hamilton, 


T. Taylor, 


158 


The Cover, 


F. 0. C. Darley, 


Sealey d- Smith, 


168 


The Struggle, 


" 


T. Phillibrown, 


174 


Death of Scipio, 


" 


Alfred Jones, 


184 


Red Rover and Bristol Trader, 


.1. Hamilton, 


J. D. Thompson, 


192 


The Attack, .... 


F. 0. C. Darley, 


J. I. Pease, 


203 


Chase through Hell-Gate, . 


J. Hamilton, 


J. McGoffin, 


220 


Sca-Grecn Lady, 


F. 0. C. Darley, 


T. Phillibrown, 


232 


The Absolution, 


U 


R. Hinshelivood, 


253 



12 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



St. Bernard, 

Dr. Reasono, 

The Jeopardy, . 

The Proposal, 

In tlie Wilderness, 

The Block, 

Death of the Indian, 

Burial of Hetty Huttcr, 

The Execution, 

The Escape, 

A Perilous Adventure, . 

The Squatter, 

The Musician, . 

Jack Tier and Captain Spike. 

Indian Peter, 

The Polar Sea, 



AKTI8T. 


E^"GKAVE^.. 


PAGE 


. F. 0. C. Darley, 


H. Hinshclwood, 


264 




Duthie d' de Mare, 


274 


. 


T. PhilUbrown, 


285 


" 


J. W. Paradise, 


299 


. J. Hamilton, 


J. Duthie, 


308 


F. 0. C. Darley, 


J. W. Paradise, 


314 


. J. Hamilton, 


B. J. jSfevmam, 


322 


u 


J. McGoffin, 


330 


. F. 0. C. Dakley, 


J. de Mare, 


335 


>,l 


C. H. Smith, 


347 


. 


C. A. Jewett, 


353 


'• 


W. W. Rice, 


359 


. 


R. Martin, 


366 


" 


T. PhilUbrown, 


372 


. 


0. H. Cushman, 


379 


u 


J. de Mare, 


390 



ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD. 



Lake Otsego from Hyde, 

Blackbird Point, 

Natty Bumppo's Cave, 

Susquehannah, with Mt. Vision in Distance, 

Lake Otsego from Witchhazel Point, 

Wild Rose Point, . 

Primeval Pines, 

One Hundred and Twenty Head and Tail-Piece Vignette Embellishments. 
Drawn by F. 0. C. Darley. Engraved by P. F. Annin. 



J. A. Hows, 


N. Orr <t Co., 


13 




ii 


48 




J. Cox, 


64 
299 




J. H. Richardson, 


322 




a 


324 




N. Orr d- Co., 


334 










LAKE OTSEGO KROM ilTDE. 



INTRODLTCTION. 



"When the year 1820 opened on Mr. Cooper, it found him living a quiet niral 
life, on a small farm in Scarsdale, some five-and-twenty miles from IS^ew York. 
He was at that time in his thirty-first year, having been born on the 15th of 
September, 1789, at Biirlington, New Jersey ; and, as yet, there Avas no clue to be 
gathered among his pursuits at the moment, or from his previous career, which 
might lead to the opinion that he would ever become known as a great writer. 

Active life had commenced early with him. In 1805, he had received a mid- 
shipman's warrant, but soon after his mamage, which took place in 1811, he had 
left the navy. Had his friends been called upon to predict his future career, many 
would probably have anticipated a return to the profession of his early youth, 
for which he still continued to cherish a very warm partiality ; or others might 
have conjectured that the lively interest he had often shown in public ques- 
tions would lie likely to lead him eventually to fix his attention on political 
life. Beyond the facts that he was known in society to possess uniisual talent, 
and that he had received all the advantages of education which the country 
afforded at that period, there appeared no grounds for believing that he would 
ever attain distinction as a literary man. 



14 INTRODUCTION. 

A farmer's life Avas that to which he himself looked forward. The cottage he 
then occupied had been recently built, and he took very great pleasure in the 
improvements required by a new place. At that period landscape-gardening 
was in its -^-ery earliest stages in America, where very little indeed had yet been 
done toward giving beauty of design, or finish of detail, to pleasure grounds of 
any kind. The educated men of tlie country had indeed shown judgment and 
taste in placing their houses, the positions of wluL-h were often very beautiful ; a 
pleasing view was always considered desirable, and the advantages of a grove, 
or a stream of water, were seldom overlooked. Many of the oldest places in 
the country possess very great natural beauties in this way, more particularly 
those on the banks of rivers first peopled by the colonists, and those within 
reach of the civilizing influences of the older towns. But, beyond this single fact 
of a choice of position, very little had been attempted. Straight rows of trees 
shading the house, or forming an avenue from the gates, or lining the nearer 
fences, were then the general form of ornamental planting practised by our 
country gentlemen. Many were the noble elms, the fragrant locusts, the exotic 
willows, and pojilars, thus ranged, like sentinels, about houses which within doors 
possessed much of the elegance and luxury of the same class of dwellings beyond 
the sea ; while the drawing-rooms were rich in expensive woods, gilded mirrors, 
choice carputings, delicate porcelain, the gardens and lawns of the same estab- 
lishments were luit little superior to those of the laboring fanner who had no 
leisure for finish of improvement. Horticulture and landscape-gardening are 
the growth (if an older and a much higher civilization than that which flows 
from commerce alone. The early dawn of improvement in pleasure-grounds was 
just then, however, beginning to open upon the country, and some of the gentle- 
men in Westchester county were giving mtich of their attention to subjects of 
this kind ; English books had led the way, returning travellers suggested new 
ideas, and people were beginning to talk about grouping trees, and shrubbery, 
and grading lawns. The improvement of his grounds became a task into which 
Mr. Cooper entered with instinctive good taste, and with all the animation and 
warmth of interest peculiar to his character. The position of the house was fine, 
commanding a beaiitiful view over the farms and woods of the adjoining country, 
in whose varied groves hickory and tidip-tree, cedar and sassafras, grew luxu- 
riantly ; a broad reach of Sound stretched beyond, always dotted with the white 
sails the sailor's eye loved to fiillow in their graceful movements to and fro, while 
the low shores of Long Islaiul, with the famous pippin orchards of ^Newtown, 
formed the distant background. Planning a lawn, building a ha-ha fence, then a 
novelty in the country, and ditching a swamp, were the tasks of the moment ; 



INTRODUCTION. 



15 



Avliile the friends wlio followed liis movement often smiled at the almost boyish 
eagerness with which he watched the growth of shrubs, or they shook tlieir 
heads sagely at the size of the trees lie was engaged in transplautiiiff. Active in 
all his habits, and full of vigorous health, he superintended the work going on, in 
all its stages, often undertaking some light task himself, and never failing to 
shorten the time by chatting ^vith his laborers — picking up amusement or prac- 
tical information in this way. 

The height on which the cottage was built had received the name of 
Angevine. Early in tlie histor}' of the county, a colony of Huguenots had 
settled on the shores of Long Island Sound, at the village of New Eoehelle. 
Tliey were a very respectable and interesting people, with a high character for 
industry, honesty, and for simple fidelity to their religious duties. A touching 
instance of the last characteristic has been preserved, as a tradition of the 
neighborliood. In the earlier days of tlie little colony there was no minister of 
the gospel among them, and no place of public worship where the services were 
held in French, nearer than the church of the St. Esprit, in ]^ew York. "With 
the earliest hours of Sunday, by starliglit or moonlight, a little band of simple- 
hearted jjilgrims, men an<l \vt)men, old and young together, were in the habit of 
setting out on foot, walking from their cottage homes, more than twenty miles, 
to join in the public worshijJ of the Lord's day, in their mother tongue. At a 
rather later period, a little stone church, rude and quaint, with pointed roof, was 
built in their village ; and within its square walls the households of the Anglican 
communion, for many miles around, attended the services, until the building was 
pronounced unsafe and taken down. Many families from this little colony were 
scattered over the adjoining country, among the farms of Mamaroneck, Rye, and 
Scarsdale, where Huguenot names are still veiy eormnon ; one of these house- 
holds had settled, as tenants, nearly a him.dred years earlier, on the height 
alluded to, in Scarsdale. When Mi\ Cooper came to examine the ground for the 
site of a liouse, he found their rude graves, a rough field-stone marking the head 
and foot of each, lining one of the fences, as was so frequently the custom on 
American farms at that period ; a kindly feeling of regard for the Huguenot 
colony, and respect for their graves, which of course remained unmolested, led to 
the name of Angevine being given to the new place. 

Heading, which always enters so naturally into eouutry life, was a regular 
resource for the evening hours, and rainy days, at Angevine. It is needless to 
observe that the books on every table were, at that day, almost exclusively 
English. The roll of all the contemporary authors in the coimtry, of any note, 
might have been called over in a trice ; and if, among these, there wei-e already 



16 



INTRODUCTION. 



several brilliant pens, yet tlie united influence of the whole class on the nation 
was still very slight indeed. The American people, in the forty-fifth year 
of their independence, were in fact living on English literatni-e almost as exclu- 
sively as they had done a century earlier, in a state wholly colonial. The very 
brilliancy of that epoch, so remarkable in British literature, was in one sense 
discouraging, and unfavorable to the birth of original writing in America ; the 
idea of publishing in the same language, and on the same day, with Scott, with 
Byron, with Burns, with Wordsworth, thus boldly challenging the world to 
comparisons the most critical, might almost have sufficed in itself, one would 
suppose, to silence all literary labor on the })art of a people still so provincial at 
heart as we then were. 

At that period there came sailing into the harbor of Kew York, witli each 
returning month, one or two packet ships, from London or Liverpool, their 
arrival in the lower bay being duly announced tn "Wall street by the unwieldy 
arms of the wooden telegraph on Staten Island; and, among bales of English 
calicos and broadcloths, there never failed to be some smaller package of far 
greater and more lasting value — some volume fresh from the London i)ress, high 
in merit, full of interest, a work whose appearance had been already heralded, 
and whose arrival was eagerly exi^ected by every reader in the coimtry. Per- 
haps it was a romance of the Waverley series, still a delightful mystery as 
regarded their origin, or a brilliant canto of Byron, or a charming social tale by 
Miss Edgeworth, or a valuable religious work by Mr. Wilberforce, or Miss More. 
With the next day's papers the news of the arrival spread through the comitry- 
houses of Westchester. Orders were immediately sent to the bookseller in New 
York. At that day each village on the Sound had its own sloop, plying two or 
three times a week to and fro, through the perils of Hell-Gate, carrying the 
produce of the farms to Fulton Market, and bringing back sugar and tea, and 
good things of all sorts, to the rustic wharf. Among other imported luxuries 
came the last new book. Or perchance it was the mail-coach, which, as it 
travelled eastward along the winding roads of Westchester, di-opped the precious 
parcel at the quiet village post-office. Lucky was that household deemed M-hich 
could first cut the pages of the new volume ; and long did its contents, rich in 
entertainment or instruction, ofter subject for social talk and clever discussion, 
about the firesides of the whole neighborhood. Tlie most imposing living per- 
sonages of the day, moving through the great cities and over the battlefields of 
old Europe, scarcely filled a wider space in familiar household talk than the 
brilliant figures on the many-colored canvas of Sir Walter Scott. Kings and 
queens, of ancient abdicated dynasties and the newly-crowned alike, victorious 



H^^^--;/^^--A 




could mpease las iuraing 3\irer* 



UEW YOR.K •.V.A^TCn.-? 



INTRODUCTION. 17 

marshals tiuil generals, successful statesmen, cabinet ministers and court beauties, 
■were compelled to sliare the honors of fireside fame with Dominie Sampson, 
and Edie Ochiltree, and Jemiie Deans, and Meg Merrilies. 

It is quite needless to declare that Mr. Cooper took great delight in the "Wav- 
erley novels ; ■when the secret of their authorship ■was still a subject for discus- 
sion, he ■was among those who never doubted that thej ■were written by Walter 
Scott, the poet. He read aloud delightfully. His voice was very fine ; deep, 
clear and expressive. Good reading was, with him, a natural gift, the impulse 
of the moment, an instinct of genius. During those cpiiet country evenings, he 
often read aloud ; there was one who listened with aflectionate interest — one for 
whom, through a long life, he read with especial pleasure. Poetry %\"as occa- 
sionally chosen : his reading of verse was particularly good, accurate, and full 
of deep poetic feeling. For Shakespeare he was always ready ; entering with 
unfeigned delight into the spirit of his works, whether comedy or tragedy. 
Pope, Thomson, Gray, were also in favor. But he could seldom be induced to 
read more than a page or two of Milton, at a time ; the great epic poet he con- 
sidered too correctly cold and classical in spirit, for his theme ; and this oj)inion 
continxied unchanged through life. " Shakespeare should have written Paradise 
Lost. Wliat a poem he would have given to the world !'' was a remark he 
repeatedly made. But new books were, of course, in j)articular request ; and 
rapidly as the great Scotch novels succeeded each other, something n^ore was 
needed to fill up all those quiet evening hoin-s at Angevine. Unfortunately those 
English packets brought trash, as well as treasures literary, from beyond the sea. 
On one occasion, a new novel chanced to lie on the table ; he was asked to read. 
Tlie title and look of the book were not to his taste ; he opened it, however, and 
began. Suddenly, after wading through a few pages, it \\as thrown aside in 
disgust : 

"I can write you a better book than that, myself!" was his exclamation. 

The consequences of that careless declaration made half in jest, were, indeed, 
little foreseen. He was playfully challenged to make good his ])romise. And 
when urged to commence at once, immediately began throwing together the 
outline of a tale, something in the style of the rejected volume. Ere long, the 
first pages of " Precaution '" were written. 

Tlie idea of writing a book was certainly, imder the circimistances, a very 
bold one. Hitherto no man could have shown himself farther from any incli- 
nation for authorcraft. He was not one of those people who like the feeling of 
foolscap, the sight of pen and ink, who indulge secret partialities for note-books, 
diaries and extracts. His portfolio was wholly empty; scarcely, indeed, pro- 
3 



t?- 



is 1 N T K U D U T I O N , 



vided with letter-paper fur au occasioual correspoudeut. The mere mechanical 
drudgery of writing was irksome to him ; so much bo, that in a letter dated only 
a year or two earlier, lie made Tise of the words : "Much as I dislike writing in 
general," &c. But, how often the latent tastes, the dormant inclinations, the un- 
developed thought and feeling which are yet to shape the future course, lie iinoL- 
served, imtil unexpectedly aroused into action ! Some occasional act, some 
isolated flash (_)f temper, some sudden gleam of intelligence, are, in such cases, 
often found, however, to reveal character and ability more cleai-ly than the 
cpiiet tenor of the daily course. Such had been the case with Mr. Cooper. As 
a boy, he liad taken great delight in certain old-fashioned heroic romances, a taste 
inherited, perhaps, from liis mother, who was much given to reading works of 
imagination. When about eleven years old, he pored over several strange old 
tales of this class, witb a playfellow of his own age ; and among others was one 
bearing the title of " Don I3elianis of Greece," now, doubtless, wholly forgotten. 
These produced a great impression, and he had barely finished them when he 
gravely informed his comrade that be sbould write a book himself! He shoidd 
begin at once. It was to be a great heroic romance, with knights, and squires, 
and horses, and ladies, and castles, and banners. " Don Belianis of Greece" was, 
of course, to be the model. Tliere was, however, one formidable difficulty in the 
way ; the penmanship was a part of the task for which he had not the least par- 
tiality. After due deliberation, an idea occnrred which removed this obstacle 
entirely. It was agieed that the new wm-k should be jirinted without the usual 
preliminary labor of writing it. Tliere was, at that time, a little blue newspaper, 
called the Otseijo Herald., published in Cooperstown, by the father of his com- 
panion, who was its editor. It was agreed that while the press was resting from 
its weekly labors, the projected romance should be dictated and printed in the 
office by the two boys. Tliis new Beaumont and Fletcher production was accord- 
ingly commenced, and several chapters were printed, when, as might have been 
foreseen, the young author became weary of his task, and thrpw it aside. Such 
was the first composition of which any record has been preserved, and fcjr years 
it appears to have remained an isolated production. 

On another occasion, however, after reaching manhood, Mr. Cooper liad act- 
ually committed himself more publicly in print, and that in verse, too. In his 
youth he occasionally wrote verses, such as most young men are in the habit of 
producing — sometimes sentimental, sometimes of a comic character. Tliese are 
said to have been generally cleverly imagined, and not without a, degree of merit, 
though he attached no value whatever to them himself. On one occasion, when 
lie was in the printing-office of the Herald, at Cooperstown, a poor fellow sub- 



I N T R(J it U CT I U N. 19 

ject to epileptic fits, came in to ask charity from a group of gentlemen he foimd 
tliere. The man's certificates were particularly good, and his story excited much 
interest. lie proved to be a strolling hallad-singer, a vocation now quite obsolete 
in the country. A purse was made up for him, when, looking about the circle, 
he remai-ked that if some gentleman woidd write him a few verses, something 
new, it would be worth far more to him than the silver he had just received. Mr. 
Cooper offered to try his hand at verse-making, and inquired what subject would 
be preferred. " There's nothing sells like ballads !" was the answer. A ballad 
was pnjmised. Tlie last war with England was then drawing to a close ; and 
Buffalo, at that time a small frontier village, had been recently burnt by the 
troops under Colonel Murray. Some thirty or forty stanzas of doggerel were im- 
mediately written, bearing the imposing title of, "Buffalo Burnt, or the Dreadful 
Cdiifiagration !" Tlie catastrophe was, of course described in the most pathetic 
manner. A number of copies were printed, and the poor stroller went oft' with 
his wallet full. Some months later he appeared again in the village ; he came 
to beg another ballad. " Buffalo Burnt, or the Dreadful Conflagration," had 
been wonderfully successful in the farm-houses of tlie neighboring counties. A 
second ballad was written, whose title has been forgotten ; but as the poor stroller 
never applied again to his poet, it was probably less successful than the first 
efiVirt. Some four or five yeai-s later, the writer of the ballad being in a neigh- 
Ijoring village, was invited to a tea-party ; music was proposed ; a young lady 
was handed to the piano, and to the amazement and horror of Mr. Cooper, very 
gravely began singing "Buft'alo Burnt, or the Dreatlful Conflagration!" 

Such were the very few preliminary steps in composition when " Precaution" 
was connnenced. As the story advanced, the writer became amused and interested 
in his task. It was not, however, until it had made some progress that the idea 
of publishing was suggested. AVithout this proposition the book would probably 
never have been completed ; but the idea of ap{)earing in a character so unex- 
pected, of taking his friends by surprise in this way, was in itself amusing, and 
gave zest to the task. Tlie MS. was read in pi>rtions to several jtersons ; t<:) Mr. 
Charles Wilkes, of N^ew York, a friend of long standing, in whose highly culti- 
vated taste he had great confldence ; to Mr. James Atcheson, of Otsego county, 
an Englishman, a man of learning and talent, but of eccentricity of character, in 
whose society Mr. Cooper took much pleasure ; and to the family of Governor Jay, 
at Bedford, with M'hom he had from childhood been on terms of intimacy. These 
partial friends all advised the publication of the tale. Probably one of the 
greatest compliments the book ever received came from an excellent lady, a guest 
in the house, present at the Bedford readings : she was convinced that Mr. 



20 I N T R O D IT C T I N. 

Cooper spoke in pleasantry when he declared the MS. to be original ; he was 
clearly making fun of his audience — she was quite confident that she liad heard 
that very tale some years earlier. And so well were the general tone and 
character of the school he imitated kept np, that, even after the publication of the 
" '^py " ^^^'^ " Pioneers," tlie same excellent lady persisted in the opinion that Mr. 
Cooper could never have written " Precaution." It was clearly a woman's book. 
Meanwhile the tale was printed. On the 25th of August, 1820, it was pub- 
lished by Mr. A. T. Goodrich, of New York, under the title of " Precaution ; or, 
Prevention is Better than Cure." The original publications of a New York house 
of that day were, of course, very few in nunjlier. The book attracted a degree 
of attention. Its literary merits were considered respectable, though not in the 
least brilliant. The characters were declared natural, and the moral tone was 
pronounced excellent. Quite as a matter of course, it was supposed, at first, 
to have been written in England, and by a woman. The publisher, however, 
declared that it was an American work, and written by a gentleman of New 
York. Surprise was expressed, and a degree of cui-iosity excited in society ; but 
most of those who read the book continued quite incredulous. And when, at 
length, the name of Mr. Cooper began to be whispered in connection with the 
tale, incredulity ratlier increased — the very suggestion was considered a piece of 
pleasantry. What American naval officer, it was asked, would be likely to wi'ite 
a book so English, and so womanly in tone and execution ? In the sense of an 
elaborate imitation, at least, " Precaiition" may be said to have been thoroughly 
successful. For a long time it was attributed to an English lady, a near connec- 
tion of Mr. Cooper's. 

The reading; world has shown itself much ffiven to indulijinij in fancies of its 
own regarding the authorship of a new book. One day it is pleased to ascribe a 
volume to some pen which is perhaps as yet wholly innocent of bookcraft ; at 
another moment it pertinaciously insists on giving a new work to a distinguished 
writer, who has, in fact, never read a line of it. In short, it likes to prove itself 
particularly sagacious in these matters, not easily blinded, very capable of 
penetrating at a glance mysteries of this s<_>rt. It professes to know intuitively 
the impossibility of this or that individual writing this or that passage, or to 
trace the sign manual of some well-known and skilful pen on every page of the 
last anonymous volume. It enjoys vastly showing itself wiser than its neighbor 
in this way. It would like to be convinced that Ibjmer never wrote the Iliad, 
and quite recently it has even shown an inclination to assert that William 
Shakespeare, of Stratford, had very little to do with Othello and Hamlet. The 
authorshii) of Junius, we max rest assured, will never be settled bevond all cavil. 



1 X T R D U C T I O X . 21 

even should Junius liiniself be proved to have thrown off his own mask. In 
fact, liowever, like all wlio are prone to indulging conceits, the reading world 
may be quite easily misled. It is little aware of the great facility Avith which 
the pen of a clever writer assumes diiferent characters — ay, characters often the 
very opposite of that most natural to the individual who writes. Your grave 
man, perhaps, shall write very gayly ; few courtiers of the great Louis so truly 
sober in mood, we are told, as the witty and humorous author of the " Bourgeois 
Gentilhomme." Few worthies have made their friends laugh more heartily than 
" Gilpin," that " citizen of credit and renown ;" and yet it was the heavy- 
hearted Cowper who seated him on horseback. Good-natured tempers may be 
very capable of writing bitter satire and sharp controversy. Boileau is said to 
have been an amiable man. Miss Hannah More was blessed with a very hajjpy 
natural temper, and she has left it on record that controversy could have a certain 
intellectual charm for her ; after several very severe letters, admirable in their way, 
and in answer to the attacks of an opponent, she confesses that the task had 
given her too much pleasure ; she must refrain from any similar work in future. 
And thus it is that men may assume on paper a quiet womanly tone, and that 
women may write, if they please, bold and daring pages, quite at variance with 
the spirit of their own daily life. And in all this there is no hypocrisy. It is 
simply a work of the intellect, literally jeu d'eiprit ; the mind is amiised with 
the task it has set itself, and takes pleasure in playing out its own game ; is often, 
perhaps, led onward far beyond its iirst intention. 

Tliere are two difterent fountains whence inspiration flows to the writer — the 
intellect and the heart, thought and feeling. Thought makes the best artist, has 
greater foresight, a wiser command of means, gives greater completeness, higher 
finish. But heart has a power even beyond this, a power of life and soul, more 
entirely swaying human sympathy and action; it has more freshness, mope 
originality, more sincerity — its highest influences are even more enduring 
Thought sees truth, and reveals it, or often mav conceal it. Heart feels truth 
itself, and, with a generous fulness of eloquence all its own, to which no en- 
thousiasjne de commande can ever attain, compels conviction. Many a highly- 
polished classic sonnet lies in cold neglect on the library shelf, while the humble 
ballad, full of true natural feeling, is preserved in affectionate living remem- 
brance. Tliese two great influences, intellect and feeling, are found acting in 
partial independence of each other. "What a man writes with the intellect only, 
may be entirely foreign to his own life — work wholly artificial ; what he really 
writes from the heart, nrast necessarily have the same coloring as his character — 
flowing from his own inmost nature, and carry with it something of the inherent 



22 INTRODUCTION. 

force of tnitli. "Have a heart and know it," is tlie advice of the great P(^lish 
poet. It is, however, where both powers are called into action, in all their fulness, 
that the noblest wi'itiugs are produced. Where a strong intellect plans, and a 
generous, upright heart works, there we may look for a great book. Imitation 
can never, for this reason, attain to the very higliest and most effective excellence 
— it is a work of the head onlj ; it may be very skilful, quite favdtless, very suc- 
cessful in its way, but the soul and spirit must ever be wanting. Genius, like the 
wonderful thrush of the American wood, may have its many voices, it may even 
condescend to sing its lays to borrowed tunes ; the careless wayfarer is deceived ; 
passing along, he fancies that he hears the robin, or the ground-sparrow; but 
when the rare creature pours forth its own noble song, he pauses, with upward 
gaze, and lingers, lost in delight, listening to those " native wood-notes wild.' 

" Precaution" was soon reprinted in England, and received much as an English 
book of the same class might have been. AYhile this tale was written under an 
assumed name, it must be understood that there were two particulars in which it 
was perfectly sincere. Tlie author's reverence for the Christian religion, and his 
respect for purity of female character, were entirely unfeigned. Throughout a 
long life he was never known to trifle with either subject. 

The book was very imperfectly 2>rinted on the coarse, dark paper of the day, 
with almost countless faults of punctuation, and a list of errata closely covering 
an entire page, at the end of the volume. A copy of the iirst editi<jn may be 
considered as a curiosity at the present day, showing the wonderful progress 
made since then in American t}i")0grapliy. 

A brief exti-act from '' Precaution'" is given, rather that the reader may be 
enabled to compare the passage with other pages ^\'hich are to follow, than from 
any jiarticular merit of its own. 



CHARITY 



" I AM sorry, aimt, Mr. Denbigh is not rich," said Eiuily to Mrs. Wilson, after they 
had retired in the evening, almost unconscious of what she uttered. The latter 
looked at her niece m surprise, at a remark so abrupt, and one so very different from 
the ordmary train of Emily's reflections, as she required an explanation. Emily, 
slightly coloring at the channel her thoughts had insensibly strayed mto, gave her 
aunt an account of their adventure in the course of the morning's drive, and touched 
lightly on the difference in the amount of the alms of her brother and those of 
Mv. Denbigh. 

" The bestowal of money is not always an act of charity," observed Mrs. Wilson, 
gravely, and the subject was dropped : though neither ceased to dwell on it in her 
thoughts, until sleep closed the eyes of both. 

The following day Mrs. Wilson invited Grace and Emily to accompany her in a 
walk ; the gentlemen having preceded them in pursuit of their different avocations. 
Francis had his regular visits of spiritual consolation ; John had gone to the hall for 
his pointers and fowling-piece, tlie season for woodcock having arrived ; and Denbigh 
had proceeded no one knew whither. On gaining the high-road, Mrs. Wilson desired 
her companions to lead the way to the cottage where the fiimily of the mendicant 
gardener had been lodged, and thither they soon arrive<l. On knocking at the door, 
they were immediately admitted to an outer room, in which they found the wife of 
the laborer who inhabited the building, engaged in her customary morning emjiloy- 
ments. They explained the motives of the visit, and were told that the family they 
sought were in an adjoining room, but she rather thought at that moment engaged 
with a clergyman who had called a quarter of an hour before. " I expect, my lady, 
it's the new rector, who every body says is so good to the poor and needy ; but I have 
not found time yet to go to church to hear his reverence preach, ma'am," courtsejing 
and handing the fresh-dusted chairs to her unexpected visitors. Tlie ladies seated 
themselves, too deHcate to interrupt Francis in his sacred duties, and were silently 
waiting his appearance, when a voice was distinctly heard through the thin partition, 
the first note of which xmdeceived them as to the character of the gardener's visitor. 

" It appears then, Davis, by your own confession," said Denbigh, mildly, but in a 
tone of reproof, " that your frequent acts of intemperance have at least given ground 
for the steward's procuring your discharge, if it has not justified him in doing that 
which his duty to your common employer required." 



24 PAGKSANDPICTURES. 

" It is hard, sir," replied the man, sullenly, " to be thrown on the world with a 
family like mine, to make way for a younger man with but one child." 

"It may be unfortunate for your wife and children," said Denbigh, "but just, as 
respects yourself. I have already convinced you, that my interference or reproof is 
not an empty one : carry the letter to the person to whom it is directed, and I pledge 
you, you shall have a new trial ; and should j'ou conduct yourself soberly, and with 
propriety, continued and ample support ; the second letter will gain your children 
immediate admission to the school I mentioned ; and I now le.ave you, with an earn- 
est injunction to remember that habits of intemperance not only disqualify you to 
support those who have such great claims on your protection, but inevitably lead to a 
loss of those powers which are necessary to insure your own eternal welfare." 

"May Heaven bless your honor," cried the woman, with fervor, and evidently in 
tears, " both for what you have said, and what you have done. Thomas only wants to 
be taken from temptation to become a sober man agaui — an honest one he has ever 
been, I am sure." 

" I have selected a place for him," replied Denbigh, " where there is no exposure 
through improper companions, and every thing now depends upon himself, under 
Providence." 

Mrs. Wilson had risen from her chair on the first intimation given by Denbigh of 
his intention to go, but had paused at the door to listen to this last speech ; when, 
beckoning her companions, she hastily withdrew, having first made a small present to 
the woman of the cottage, and requested her not to mention their having called. 

" What becomes now of the comparative charity of your brother and Mr. Denbigh, 
Emily ?" asked Mrs. Wilson, as they gained the road on their return homeward. 
Emily was not accustomed to hear any act of John slightly spoken of without at least 
manifesting some emotion, which betrayed her sisterly regard ; but on the present 
occasion she chose to be silent ; while Grace, after waiting in expectation that her 
cousin would speak, ventured to say timidly : 

" I am sure, dear madam, Mr. Moseley was very liberal, and the tears were in his 
eyes while he gave the money. I was looking directly at them the whole time." 

" John is compassionate by nature," continued Mrs. Wilson, with an almost inijjor- 
ceptible smile. " I have no doubt his sympatliies were warmly enlisted in behalf of 
this family ; and possessing much, he gave liberally. I have no doubt he would have 
undergone personal privation to have relieved their distress, and endured both pain 
and labor, with such an excitement before him. But what is all that to the charity 
of Mr. Denbigh ?" 

Grace was unused to contend, and, least of all, with Mrs. Wilson; but, unwilling 
to abandon John to such censure, with increased animation, she said : 

" If bestowing freely, and feeling for the distress you relieve, be not commendable, 
madam, I am sure I am ignorant what is." 




-5 



CHARITY. 



25 



"That compassion for the woes of others is beautiful in itself, and the want of it an 
invariable evidence of corruption from too much, and an ill-governed intercourse with 
the world, I am willing to acknowledge, my dear Grace," said Mrs. Wilson, kindly ; 
"but the relief of misery, where the heart has not undergone this hardening ordeal, 
is only a relief to our own feelings : this is compassion ; but Christian charity is a 
higher order of duty : it enters into every sensation of the heart ; disposes us to judge, 
as well as to act, favorably to our fellow-creatures ; is deeply seated in the sense of our 
own unworthiness ; keeps a single eye, m its dispensations of temporal benefits, to the 
everlasting happiness of the objects of its bounty; is consistent, well regulated; in 
short" — and Mrs. Wilson's pale cheek glowed with an unusual richness of color — " it 
is an humble attempt to copy after the heavenly example of our Redeemer, in sacri- 
ficing ourselves to the welfare of others, and does and must proceed from a love of 
his person, and an obedience to his mandates." 

" And Mr. Denbigh, aunt," exclaimed Emily, the blood mantling to her cheeks 
with a sympathetic glow, while she lost all consideration for John in the strength of 
her feelings, " his charity you think to be of this description ?" 

" So far, my chOd, as we can understand motives from the nature of tlie conduct, 
such appears to have been the charity of Mr. Denbigh." 

Grace was silenced, if not convinced ; and the ladies continued their walk, lost in 
their own reflections, until they reached a bend in the road which hid the cottage from 
view. 




-^;\ ^ if., ' 




^ ,\^,!V'^ -^ >^M^--iv^S?-'" 



II. 



THE SPY 



To a s^jirit naturally so free and active as that of the writer of " Precaution," 
Imitation must soon become wearying and irksome in the extreme. Disguise was 
now thrown off — and forever. 

"I will try another book!" he exclaimed, supposing that this second narrative 
should' prove the last. 

A field wholly new was chosen. A tale was soon planned. It was to be in 
one sense historical, yet a book entirely American in scenery, in the characters, 
and in its spirit. Works of historical romance, brilliant with the proud pageantry 
of European story, were at that moment filling the eye of the civilized world 
with their dazzling glamour, displaying figures the most picturesque, yet charm- 
ingly natural, thrown into striking groiips by a hand the most powerful, the 
most skilful, which had yet woven the web of English fiction. What materials 
were there, in our own brief annals, to compare with tliese treasures of tradition ; 
what was there in our own bare and homely provincial life which could delight 
the reader's imagination ; what hope had the young American sailor, iintutored 
in authorcraft, when entering the field held by the veteran writer already great 
in achievement and fame ? The question was soon to be decided. 

Patriotism was to be the soul of the new book, and the fact that he was 
about to move over home ground gave new zest to the work. In his warmly- 
generous nature, still in the glow of youth, love of country flowed from fountains 
clear, deep and full, and he was perhaps unconscious himself of all the life and 
spirit which the feeling was about to infuse into the pages of the new tale. The 
scene was laid in Westchester county, where he was living at the time — a part of 



T H K S P Y 



the country to which he was always partial ; the society found in the different 
gentlemen's houses scattered over the county was particularly good, and to one as 
thoroughly social as himself, in all his tastes and habits, a source of much enjoy- 
ment. Tlie genial, temperate climate was also pleasant, while the sea-breezes, 
even when sweeping over the country in the form of the local " tliree-days' 
storm," had their own charm for a sailor's senses. 

Many lesser incidents of the Revolution, now wholly forgotten, were at that 
day still living facts in the minds of the people, scarcely yet remote enough for 
the shadowy perspective of history. Many of those who had taken an active 
part in the great struggle were still coming in and going out of their children's 
doors — aged men, telling tales of the different events of the conflict, with all the 
glow of personal interest. Many a gray-haired housewife, as she sat at the 
wheel, spinning her thread of flax or wool, could talk of the armies she had seen 
in her girlhood passing her father's door, marching to and fro, on their way to 
this or that victory, or retreating, perchance, from this or that defeat. Westches- 
ter was full of such i-ecollections. There was no portion of the country whose 
soil, during the eight eventful years of the war, was so often trodden by friend 
and foe, alike in arms. The city of New York, iinlike any other in the country, 
was lield, from the very first to the very latest days of the war, by strong garri- 
sons of one party or the other. Abandoned by General "Washington after the 
defeat on Long Island, it became from tliat hour the permanent head-quarters of 
the British commander-in-chief; while American armies, now standing aloof in 
conscious weakness of numbers, now advancing nearer with returning strength 
of reinforcement, kept constant watch, their eyes fixed on that important point. 
Of course, smaller bodies of troops, of both parties, were in unceasing movement 
over the adjacent countrj', foraging, reconnoitring, skirmishing, as the occasion 
required. Scarce a narrow lane of the many winding roads of the county, fenced 
with rude stone walls, liedged with brier and vine, shaded with cedar and oak, as 
they are, along which trim British troops and ragged American soldiers liad not 
marched and countermarched by the light of sun or star. Scarce a farm-house 
door which liad not been darkened by Cow-boy, Hessian, or Skinner, on errand 
of pillage or violence. Scarce a barnyard which had not been harried, scarce a 
larder, whether high or low, wliich had not, time and again, been rifled. Here 
and there still darker work had been done — homes had been destroyed by fire, 
good yeoman blood had been shed, life had been taken, husband, father, or 
brother had fallen in some unrecorded skirmish, the hero of a rustic neighbor- 
hood. Tlie entire country between the American outposts on the skirts of the 
Highlands, and the British works on the island of Manliattan — the Neutral 



•2S P A G K S A N D P I C T U R K S . 

Ground, as it was called by both parties — probably siiffered more in this way 
than the same extent of country in any part of the Union. Scarsdale and 
Mamai-oneck lay within this region. The battlefield of WTiite Plains was close 
at hand ; Fort Washington liad stood on a neighboring height ; Dolib's Ferry, so 
long a central point of interest for the American forces, lay only a few miles 
beyond. On the daily drive from Angevine to the nearest post-office at Mamaro- 
neek, a sj^ot was passed connected with one of the many local traditions of the 
neighborhood ; iu a pretty thicket, covering a piece of swampy land, a cave was 
shown in which one of the partisans of the day had lain for some time concealed, 
fed secretly by friendly hands with food stealthily brought at night, until escape 
was effected. And again, on the way to the little Huguenot chiu'ch at New 
Kochelle, the road wound at the foot of a hill, shaded by a pretty grove, which, 
in sj^ite of its quiet, sunny aspect at the present hour, enjoyed the gloomy honors 
of a haunted wood — a sharp skirmish had taken place there in the years of the 
Kevolution, and ever and anon, at solemn midnight hours, ghosts were dimly 
seen gliding to and fro, aye, it was even whispered that the clashing of their 
swords had been faintly heard, more than once, on some stormy night ; in vain 
might proud incredulity shake its head, the inmates of certain old gray cottages, 
with moss-grown shingled walls, and projecting ovens, knew better ; they be- 
lieved the fact most firmly. 

At the foot of the hill on which stood the cottage of Angevine, there was a 
small farm-house, remarkable in one architectural particular, its four walls show- 
ing each a different color to the face of the sun — red, yellow, brown, and white. 
Li this comfortable polychromatic dwelling lived a small farmer who came fre- 
quently to Angevine, telling his tales of " Godfrey's Cave," and the " haimted 
wood," or talking over past scenes, in which figured " continentals," " regulars," 
" rebels," and " refugees" — words carrying strange sounds to our ears to-day. 

" Uncle John H- " was but one of the number of the yeoman neighbors — 

some of Huguenot, some of English stock — who gladly came to pass a cheerful 
evening hour with the master of the house, fighting the county battles over 
with fresh interest, aroused by the spirited questions, the intelligent sympathy of 
their host. All, as they drank their glass of cider, picked over their hickory- 
nuts, or pared their Newtown pippin, had countless deeds of violence, more or 
less flagrant, to relate, of Cow-boy and Skinner ; all had some family tradition to 
repeat, of hairbreadth escape, of daring feat, of harried fields, and houses 
burned. Tliere was one very remarkable tale-teller of the region, long since 
deceased, while his family have also passed away, far surpassing most narrators, 
since the days rif the celebrated German, whose reputation in this way was well 



THE SPY. 



29 



established in the county ; his anecdotes, however, were chiefly confined to the 

prowess of a near relative, " Major Broni B ," a hero of the great war, wlio 

would assuredly have deserved half a dozen pensions had he ever claimed one. 
Tliis champion commanded, according to the narrator, a family troop, small in 
number, but most redoubtable in their feats ; all related by blood to " Major 
Brom," all in uniform of silver gray, and numbering twenty-seven martial 
spirits in one company. The major was, moreover, the happy owner of a negro, 
"Bonny," almost as famous as himself, while his gun, "the Buccaneer," had not 
its fellow on the continent. The various adventures of " Major Brom B.," the 
twenty-seven silver-grays, Bonny the negro, and Buccaneer the gun, were an un- 
failing source of entertainment at many firesides in Westchester at that dav. 

But it was from sources far higher tliau these, that the leading idea of the new 
book was derived. Visits to Bedford were very frequent at that period. One 
summer's afternoon, while sitting on the broad piazza of the house. Judge Jav and 
Mr. Cooper were listening with respectful attention to the remarks of the vener- 
able Governor Jay, as he related dift'erent facts comiected with the history of the 
Revolution. Tlie conversation turned more particularly on the s^iirit of true 
patriotism, as shown by all classes of the jieople, during the struggle. Governor 
Jay then observed that there were men whose services at critical moments, in 
obtaining information for the use of the commander-in-chief had been of the 
greatest importance, and that repeatedly such services had been undertaken at 
imminent personal risks, from the most disinterested love of country. lie then 
proceeded to relate a remarkable incident of this natiire, with which he had been 
himself connected. It was from this interesting conversation, that the idea of the 
chai-acter of Harvey Birch was now drawn, as the reader will find, in looking 
over an ensuing extract referring to the incident. 

Strolling peddlers, stafi:' in hand, and pack at the back, were more common 
visitors at the country-houses of that day than at the present hour, when these per- 
sonages usually keep their coaches, and may be called speculators, and wandering 
traders, rather than old-fashioned peddlers. It was after the \'isit of one of these 
men, a Yankee peddler of the old sort, to the cottage at Angcvine, that Harvey's 
lot in life was decided — he was to be a spy, and a peddler. Always rapid in his 
work, the outline had scarcely been conceived, when the first pages were written. 
On this occasion, as on all others when writing a book, he first adopted some 
general leading idea, sketched vaguely in his mind a few of the more prominent 
characters, and then immediately began his work in its final shape, leaving the 
details to suggest and develop themselves during the progress of the volume. 
Excepting when writing history, he is not known to have ever drawn up a written 



30 P A « E S A N D P I T U R K S . 

plan, and in one or two instances only were a few brief notes thrown on paper, 
regarding some particular chapter. In all the details he depended in a great 
measure on the thouglit and feeling of the moment. While writhig "The Spy," 
and one or two of his earliest works, some intimate friend was occasionally consulted. 
But, ere long, he became quite independent in his action on these matters ; and 
during thirty years of professional writing, there was but one witli whom he 
habitually talked over his plot and characters — one only, who was ever his chief 
counsellor, one in whose taste and judgment he had great confidence. 

On the 17th of September, 1821, "The Spy, a Tale of the iS^eutral Ground," 
was published in New York, by Wiley and Ilalsted. Tlic book immediately 
attracted general attention, probably beyond what any American volume had yet 
done. It was read with delight. Tlie strikingly original character of Harvey 
Birch, so clearly conceived, so thoroughly carried out, riveted attention, while 
the glow pervading the whole narrative, gave interest to every chapter. The 
critics were taken by surprise — they held their breath. Tliat a book so full of 
talent, shoidd have been written by an author as j-et unrecognized among them, 
was strange indeed. A few ventured to praise. Many waited for the word of 
command from England, ere committing themselves, the common course of things 
in all literary matters at that day. Meanwhile in society, the work was meeting 
with brilliant success. It was found on every table, and enjoyed by all classes of 
readers. Ere long the character of Harvey Birch became so vividly impressed on 
the public mind, that people expected to see his thin, stooping ligure, gliding 
across their path, as they drove about the hills and valleys of Westchester. 

In Europe, " The Spy" had also great siiccess, the interest inherent in the book 
being naturally increased by its coming from a country whence so little was then 
expected, in the way of original literature. In England it was well received ; 
Mr. Cooper was much gratified by a compliment from Miss Edgeworth, who, after 
expressing the pleasure she had received from the book, sent him a message 
through a mvitiial friend, declaring that she liked " Betty Flanagan" particularly, 
and that an Irish pen could not have drawn her better. French translation soon 
followed. Some very ludicrous mistakes occur in the first French versions. The 
name given to the Wharton place, " Tlie Locusts" proved a puzzle ; the word was 
rendered as it was found in the dictionary, " Les Sauterelles" — the Grasshoppers. 
This might have answered very well, but for one unfortunate fact — a dragoon of 
Lawton's troop is represented as tying his horse to one of the locusts on the lawn. 
Here was a difficulty ; the worthy translator, however, belonging evidently to 
the class " traduttorl, iradltori,'" seems to have taken it for granted, that trans- 
atlantic grasshoppers must necessarily be of gigantic proportions ; nothing 



T H E a P V . 31 

daunted, he proceeds gravely to state the remarkable fact, that the dragoon se- 
cured his charger by fastening the bridle to one of the grasshoppers before the 
door — apparently standing there for that purpose! In another chapter, when 
giving the passage in which Colonel Wellraere is represented as drawing figures 
on the dining-table with the wine spilled from his glass, as the gentlemen are 
sitting over their nuts and Madeira, the sage translator takes occasion to insert a 
note, in which he calls the reader's attention to a fact showing so clearly the rude 
style of living in America at that day — even in the house of a man in Mr. Whar- 
ton's position table-linen was unknown. It was soon reported in New York, 
among Mr. Cooper's friends, that the book was his own. An amusing incident 
occurred not long after its publication. The writer was walking in Broadway, 
when he saw a gentleman, well known to him, cross the street, and advance to 
meet him ; it was a prominent merchant, a man of money, very well known in 
Wall street. He came on a friendly errand, to congratulate his acquaintance on 
the new book, and its success. He was loud in its praises. 

- " An admirable book — never read any thing more full of spirit and interest 
in my life !" 

"I am glad you like it." 
, " Like it — to be sure I do. From the moment I opened the first volume I 
could not leave my chair until I had gone through the last chapter. I sat up all 
night to read it through I" 

" My friend Harvey is much obliged to you." 

"I have one criticism to make, however. You dont object to criticism I 
hope ! I like the book as a whole exceedingly — it is full of interest, every page of 
it — the character of Harvey is excellent too in most particulars — but there lies 
the difficulty — you have made one capital mistake in drawing Harvey's charac- 
ter!" 

" Indeed, and what may that be ?" 

" Why, my dear sir, you have given the man no motive ! The character is 
well drawn in other particulars ; but so much the greater pity that you failed on 
that point. Just look at the facts ; here is a man getting into all kinds of scrapes, 
running his neck into the noose, of his own accord, and where, pray, is his 
motive ? Of course I thought until the last page, that he would be well paid for 
his services — but just as I expected to see it all made clear as day, he refuses to 
take the gold General Washington offers him. There was your great mistake — 
you should have given Harvey some motive !" 

At a later day, when revising " The Spy" for the last edition, the author was 
dissatisfied with many things in his work, and once remarked that he should like 



32 



PALJES AND PICTURES. 



to write it entirely anew. On several occasions he expressed a regret that he 
should have introduced General Washington, personally, into a work of fiction, 
veneration for the character of the great man increasing with his own years. 




The following account of the Spy is given in Mr. Cooper's words : 

" The author has often been asked if there were any foundation in real life, for 
the delineation of the principal character in this book. He can give no clearer 
answer to the question, than by laying before his readers a simple statement of 
the facts connected with its original publication. 

" Many years since, the writer of this volume was at the residence of an illus- 
trious man, who had been employed in various situations of high trust during the 
darkest days of the American Kevolution. The discourse turned upon the effettts 
which great political excitement produce on character, and the purifying conse- 
quences of a love of country, when that sentiment is powerfully and generally 
awakened in a ]>eople. He, who, from his years, his services, and his knowledge 
of men, was best qualified to take the lead in such a conversation, was the princi- 
pal speaker. After dwelling on the marked manner in which the great struggle 
of the nation, during the war of 1775, had given a new and honorable direction 
to the thoughts and practices of multitudes whose time had formerly been en- 
grossed by the most vulgar concerns of life, he illustrated his opinions by relating 
an anecdote, the truth of which he could attest as a personal vsdtness. 

" Tlie dispute between England and the United States of America, though not 
strictly a family quarrel, had many of the features of a civil war. The people of 



THE S P Y. 33 

the latter were never properly aud constitutionally subject to the people of tlie 
former, but the inhabitants of both countries owed allegiance to a comnion king. 
The Americans, as a nation, disavowed this allegiance, and the English, choosing 
to support their sovereign in the attempt to regain his power, most of the feelings 
of an internal struggle were involved in the conflict. A large proportion of tlie 
emigrants from Europe, then established in the colonies, took part with tlie 
crown ; and there were many districts in which their influence, Tinited to that 
of the Americans who refused to lay aside their allegiance, gave a decided jn-e- 
ponderance to the royal cause. America was then too young, and too much in 
need of every lieart and hand, to regard tliese partial divisions, small as they 
were in actual amoimt, with indiiference. The evil was greatly increased by 
the acti\'ity of the English in profiting by these internal dissensions ; and it 
became doubly serious when it was found that attempts were made to raise 
various cor2:>s of provincial troops, who were to be banded with those from Europe, 
to reduce the young republic to subjection. Congress named an especial and a 
secret committee, therefore, for the express purpose of defeating this object. Of 
this committee Mr. , the narrator of the anecdote, was chairman. 

" Li the discharge of the novel duties which had now devolved on him, Mr. 

had occasion to employ an agent whose services differed but little from those of a 
common spy. This man, as will easily be imderstood, belonged to a condition in 
life which rendered him the least reluctant to appear in so equivocal a character. 
He was poor, ignorant, so far as the iisual instruction was concerned ; but cool, 
shrewd, and fearless by nature. It was his office to learn in what part of the 
coimtry the agents of the crown were making their secret eflbrts to embody men, 
to repair to the place, enlist, appear zealous in the cause he affected to serve, and 
otherwise to get possession of as many of the secrets of the enemy as possible. 
The last he of course communicated to his employers, who took all the means in 
their power to counteract the plans of the English, and frequently with success. 

" It will readily be conceived that a service like this was attended with great 
personal hazard. Li addition to the danger of discovery, there was the daily risk 
of falling into the hands of the Americans themselves, who invariably visited sins 
of this nature more severely on the natives of the country than on the Europeans 

who fell into their hands. In fact, the agent of Mr. was several times 

arrested by the local authorities ; and, in one instance, he was actually condemned 
by his exasperated countrpnen to the gallows. Speedy and private orders to his 
gaoler alone saved him from an ignominious death. He was permitted to escape ; 
and this seeming, and indeed actual peril was of great aid in supporting his 
assumed character among the English. Bv the Americans, in his little sphere, 



34 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



he Avas denounced as a bold and inveterate tory. In this manner lie continued 
to serve his country in secret during the early years of tlio struggle, hourly 
environed by danger, and the constant subject of unmerited opprobrium. 

" In the year , Mr. was named to a high and honorable employment 

at a European court. Before vacating his seat in Congress, he reported to that 
body an outline of the circumstances related, necessarily suppressing the name of 
his agent, and demanding an aj^propriation in behalf of a man who had been of 
so much use, at so great risk. A suitable smn was voted, and its delivery was 
confided to the chairman of the secret committee. 

" jyXi.. took the necessary means to summon his agent to a personal inter- 
view. They met in a wood at midnight. Here Mr. complimented his 

companion on his fidelity and adroitness ; explained the necessity of their com- 
mimications being closed ; and finally tendered the money. The otlier drew 
back, and declined receiving it. " The coimtry has need of all its means," he 
said ; " as for myself, I can work, or gain a livelihood in various ways." Per- 
suasion was useless, for patriotism was uppermost in the heart of this remarkable 

individual; and Mr. departed, bearing with him the gold he had bmught, 

and a deep respect for the man who had so long hazarded his life, unrccpiited, for 
the cause they served in common. 

" The writer is imder an impression that, at a later day, the agent of Mr. 

consented to receive a remuneration for what he had done; but it was not until 
his country was entirely in a condition to bestow it. 

"It is scarcely necessary to add, that an anecdote like this, simply but forcibly 
told by one of its principal actors, made a deep impression on all wlio heard it. 
Many years later, circumstances which it is unnecessary to relate, and of an 
entirely adventitious nature, induced the writer to publish a novel, which proved 
to be, what he little foresaw at the time, the first of a tolerably long series. The 
same adventitious causes which gave birth to the book, determined its scene and 
its general character. The former was laid in a foreign country ; and the latter 
embraced a crude effort to describe foreign manners. Wlien this tale Avas pub- 
lished, it became matter of reproach among the author's friends, that he, an 
American in heart as in birth, should give to the world a work which aided ])er- 
haps, in some slight degree, to feed the imagination of the young and mi})ractised 
among his own countrymen, by pictures drawn from a state of society so difterent 
from that to which he belonged. The writer, while he knew how nmch vf what 
he had done was purely accidental, felt the reproach to be one that, in a measure, 
was just. As the only atonement in his power, he determined to inflict a second 
book, whose subject should admit of no cavil, not only on the world, but on him- 



T H B S P Y . 35 

self. He chose patriotism for liis tkeuie ; and to those who read this introduction 
and the book itself, it is scarcely necessary to add, that he took the hero of the 
anecdote just related as the best illustration of his subject. 

'' Since the original publication of "The Spy," there have appeared several 
accounts of different pei'sons who are supposed to have been in the author's mind 

while writing the buok. As Mr. did not mention the name of his agent, 

the writer never knew any more of his identity with this or that individual than 
has been hero exjilained. Both Washington and Sir Henry Clinton had an 
unusual number of secret emissaries ; in a war that partook so much of a domes- 
tic character, and in wliieli the contending parties were people of the same blood 
and language, it could scarcely be otherwise. 

" The style of the book has been revised by the author in this edition. Li this 
respect, he has endeavored to make it more worthy of the favor with which it has 
been received ; though he is compelled to admit there are faults so interwoven with 
the structure of the tale that, as in the case of a decayed edifice, it would cost 
perhaps less to reconstruct than to repair. Five-and-twenty years have been as 
ages with most things connected with America. Among other advances, that of 
her literature has not been the least. So little was expected from the publication 
of an original work of this description, at the time it was written, that the first 
volume of "The Spy" was actually printed several months before the author felt 
a sufficient inducement to write a line of the second. The efforts expended on a 
hopeless task are rarely worthy of him who makes them, however low it may 
be necessary to rate the standard of his general merit. 

" One other anecdote connected with the history of this book, may give the 
reader some idea of the hopes of an American author, in the first quarter of the 
present century. As the second volume was slowly printing, from manuscript 
that was barely dry when it went into the comjiositor's hands, the publisher 
intimated that the work might grow to a length that would consume the pi-ofits. 
To set his mind at rest, the last chapter was actually written, printed, and paged, 
several weeks before the chapters which precede it were even thought of. Tliis 
circumstance, while it cannot excuse, may serve to explain the manner in which 
the actors are hui-ried off the scene. 

" A great change has come over the country since this book was originally 
wi-itten. Tlie nation is passing from the gristle into the bone, and the common 
mind is beginning to keep even pace with the gi-owth of the body politic. The 
march from Vera Cruz to Mexico was made under the orders of that gallant 
soldier who, a quarter of a century before, was mentioned with honor in the last 
chapter of this very book. Glorious as was that march, and brilliant as were its 



36 



PAGES AND P I T n R K S. 



results in a military point of view, a stride was then made hy the nation, in a 
moral sense, that has hastened it, by an age, in its progress toward real independ- 
ence and high political influence. The guns that tilled the valley of the Aztecs 
witli their thunder, liave been heard in echoes on the other side of the Atlantic, 
jiroducing eipially hope or apprehension. 

"There is now no enemy to fear, but the one that resides within. By accus- 
toming oui-selves to regard even the people as erring beings, and by using the 
restraints that wisdom has adduced from experience, there is much reason to hope 
that the same Providence which has so well aided us in our infancy, may con- 
tinue to smile on our manhood. 

" CoopEESTOWN, March 29, 1849." 





t lai liic vdI\' 



i:EV,r'r0FK "V^'ATOWHSEKT. . 




BIECH IN HIS COTIAGE. 



The possessions of Mr. Wharton extended to some distance on each side of the 
house in which he dwelt, and most of his land was unoccujjied. A few scattering 
dwellings were to be seen in different parts of his domains, but they were fast foiling 
to decaj', and were mitenanted. The proximity of the country to the contending 
armies had nearly banished the pursuits of agriculture from the land. It was useless 
for the husbandman to devote his time, and the labor of his hands, to obtain over- 
flowing garners, that the first foraging party would empty. None tilled the earth with 
any other view than to provide the scanty means of subsistence, except those who 
were placed so near to one of the adverse parties as to be safe from the inroads of the 
light troops of the other. To these the war offered a golden harvest, more especially 
to such as enjoyed the benefits of an access to the royal army. Mr. Wharton did not 
require the use of his lands for the purposes of subsistence, and willingly adopted the 
guarded practice of the day, and limited his attention to such articles as were soon to 
be consumed within his own walls, or could be easily secreted from the prying looks 
of the foragers. In consequence, the groimd on which the action was fought had not 
a single inhabited buildmg, besides the one belonging to the father of Harvey Birch. 
This stood between the places where the cavalry had met, and the charge had been 
made on the party of Welhnere. 

To Katy Haynes, it had been a day fruitful in incidents to furnish an mexhaustible 
theme to her after-life. The prudent housekeeper had kept her political feelings in a 
state of rigid neutraUty ; her own friends had espoused the cause of the country, but 



3S PAUESANDPICTURES. 

the maiden never lost sight of the moment when she lierself was to be espoused to 
Harvey Birch. She did not wish to fetter the bonds of Hymen with any other clogs 
than those with which nature had already so amply provided them. Katy could 
always see enough to embitter the marriage bed, without calling in the aid of political 
contention ; and yet, at times, the prying spinster had her doubts of which side she 
shoidd be, to escape this dreaded evil. There was so much of j)ractised deception in 
the conduct of the peddler, that the housekeeper frequently arrested her own words 
when most wisliing to manifest her sympathy. His lengthened absences from home 
had connnenced immediately after the hostile armies had mnde their ai)pearance in 
the country ; previously to that event, his returns had been regular and frequent. 

The battle of the Plains had taught the cautious Washington the advantages pos- 
sessed by his enemy, in organization, arms, and discipline. These Avere difficulties to 
be mastered by his own vigilance and care. Drawing off his troops to the heights, in 
the northern part of the county, he bid defiance to the attacks of the royal army, and 
Sir William Howe fell back to the enjoyments of his barren conquests, a deserted city 
and the adjacent islands. Never afterward did the opposing armies make the trial 
for success within the Umits of Westchester ; yet hardly a day passed that the 
partisans did not make their inroads ; or a sunrise, that the inhabitants were spared 
the relation of the excesses that the preceding darkness had served to conceal. Most 
of the movements of the j)eddler through the country were made at the hours which 
others allotted to repose. The evening sun would frequently leave him at one extrem- 
ity of the district, and the morning find him at the other. His pack was his never- 
failing companion, and there were those who closely studied him in his moments of 
traffic, who thought his only purpose was the accumulation of gold. He would be 
often seen near the Highlands with a body bending under the weight it carried ; and 
agam near the Harlem River, travelling, with lighter steps, with his face toward the 
setting smi. But these glances at him were uncertain and fleeting. The intermediate 
time no eye could penetrate. For months he disappeared, and no traces of his course 
were ever known. 

Strong parties held the heights of Harlem, and the northern end of ^Manhattan 
Island was bristled with the bayonets of the English sentinels, yet the peddler glided 
among them unnoticed and iniiujiired. His ajiproachos to the American luies were 
also frequent ; but generally so conducted as to baffle pursuit. Many a sentinel, ]ilaced 
in the gorges of the mountains, spoke of a strange figure that had been seen gliding 
by them in the mists of the evening. The stories reached the ears of the officers, and, 
as we have related, in two instance.?, the trader fell into the hands of the Americans. 
The first time he escaped from Lawton, shortly after his arrest ; but the second he was 
condemned to die. On the morning of his intended execution, the cage was opened, 
but the bird had flown. This extraordinary escape had been made from the custody 
of a favorite officer of Washington, and sentinels who had been thought worthy to 



BIRCH IX HIS COTTAGE. 



39 



guard the person of the commander-in-chief. Bribery ;uul treason could not approach 
the cliaracters of men so well esteemed, and the opinion gained ground among the 
common soldiery, that the peddler had deahngs with the dark one. Katy, however, 
always repelled this opinion with indignation ; for -svithin the recesses of her own 
bosom, the housekeeper, in ruminating on the events, concluded that the evil spirit did 
not pay in gold. Nor, contmues the wary spinster in her cogitations, does Washing- 
ton ; paper and promises were all that the leader of the American troops could dis- 
pense to his servants, uutU after the receipt of suppHes from France ; and even then, 
although the scrutinizing eyes of Katy never let any opportunity of examining into the 
deer-skin purse pass iniimproved, she was never able to detect the image of Louis, in- 
truding into the presence of the well-known countenance of George III. 

The house of Harvey had been watched at diflerent times by the Americans, with a 
•\iew to his arrest, but never with success ; the reputed spy possessed a secret means 
of intelUgence, that invariably defeated their schemes. Once, when a strong body of 
the Continental army held the Four Comers for a whole summer, orders had been 
received from Washington himself, never to leave the door of Harvey Birch un- 
watched ; the command was rigidly obeyed, and during this long period the peddler 
was unseen ; the detachment was withdrawn, and the next night Birch re-entered his 
dwelling. The father of Harvey had been greatly molested, in consequence of the 
suspicious character of the son. But, notwithstanding the most minute scrutiny into 
the conduct of the old man, no fact could be substantiated against him to his injury, 
and his property was too small to keep alive the zeal of professed patriots ; its confisca- 
tion and purchase would not reward them for their trouble. Age and sorrow were 
now about to spare him from further molestation, for the lamp of life had begun to be 
drained of its oil. The separation of the father and son had been painful, but in 
obedience to what both thought a duty. The old man had kept his situation a secret 
from the neighborhood, in order that he might have the company of his child in his 
last moments. The confusion of the past day, and his increasing dread that Harvey 
might be too late, helped to hasten the event he would fain arrest for yet a little while. 
As night set in, his illness increased to such a degree, that the dismayed housekeeper 
had sent a truant boy, who had been shut uj) with them for the day rather than trust 
himself in the presence of the combatants, to the Locusts, in quest of a companion to 
cheer her desolate situation. Cfesar was the only one who could be spared, and, 
loaded with eatables and cordials by the kind-hearted IMiss Peyton, the black had been 
dispatched on this duty. The dying man was past the use of such articles, and his 
chief anxiety seemed to centre in a meeting with his absent child. 

The noise of the chase had been heard by the group in the house, but its cause not 
understood; and as both the black and Katy were apprised of the detachment of 
American horse being below them, -with its discontinuance all apprehension from this 
disturbance ceased. They heard the dragoons, as they moved slowly by the building, 



J.0 PAGESANDPICTURES. 

but in compliance with the prudent injunction of the black, the housekeeper forbore to 
indulge her curiosity by taking a ^icw of the pageant. The old man had closed his 
eyes, and his attendants supposed him to be asleep. The house contained two large 
rooms, and as many small ones. One of the former served for kitchen and parlor ; in 
the other, lay the father of Birch ; of the latter, one was the sanctuary of the vestal, 
and the other contained the provisions for subsistence. A huge chimney of stone rose 
in the centre of the building, serving, of itself, for a partition bet'H'een the larger rooms ; 
and fire-places of corresponding dimensions were in each apartment. A bright fire was 
burning in that of the common room, and within the very jambs of its monstrous jaws 
sat Coesar and Katy, at the time of which we Avrite. The African was impressing his 
caution on the housekeeper to sujjpress an idle curiosity that might prove dangerous. 

" Best nebber tempt a Satan," said Caesar, rolling up his eyes significantly, till the 
whites glistened by the glare of the fire ; " I like to lose an ear, only for carrying a 
little bit of a letter ; but I wish Harvey get back." 

" It is very disgraceful in him to be away at such times," said Katy, imposingly. 
" Suppose now his father wanted to make his last will in the testament, who is there to 
do such a thing for him ? Harvey is a very wasteful and a very disregardful man." 

" Perhaps he make him afore," said the black, inquiringly. 

"It would not be a wonderment if he had," returned the housekeeper; "he is 
whole days looking into the Bible." 

" Then he read a good book," said the black, solemnly. " Miss Fanny read him to 
Dinah berry often." 

" Yes," continued the inquisitive spinster ; " but he would not be forever studying 
it, if it didn't hold something more as common." 

She rose from her seat, and stealing softly to a chest of drawers in the room where 
lay the sick, took from it a large Bible, heavily bound, and secured with strong clasps 
of brass, with which she returned to the expecting African. The volume was opened, 
and she proceeded instantly to the inquiry. Katy was far from an expert scholar, and 
to Coesar the characters were absolutely strangers. For some time the housekeeper 
was occupied with finding out the word Matthew, which she at last saw in large 
Roman letters crowning one of the pages, and instantly announced her discovery to 
the attentive Csesar. 

" Berry well, now look him all through," said the black, peeping over the damsel's 
shoulder, as he held a long, lank candle of yellow tallow in his hand, in such a manner 
as to throw its feeble light on the volume. 

" Yes, but I must begin with the book," replied the other, turning the leaves care- 
fully back, until, moving two at once, she lighted upon a page covered with the labors 
of a pen. " Here," said the housekeeper with impatience, and shaking with the 
eagerness of expectation, " here is the very words themselves ; now I would give the 
world to know who he has left them big silver shoe-buckles to." 



BIRCH IN HIS COT T AG K. 41 

" Read 'em," said Caesar, laconically. 

" Aud the black-walnut di-awers ; for Harvey could never want them." 

" Why no want 'eui as well as he fader ?" asked the black, dryly. 

" And the six silver tablespoons ; for Harvey always uses the iron." 

" I guess he say," continued the African, jxiinting sitrnificautly to the writing, and 
listening eagerly, as the other thus opened the store of the elder Birch's wealth. 

Thus repeatedly advised, and impelled by her own curiosity, Katy connnenced her 
task. Anxious to come to the ]iart which m<jst interested herself, she dipped at once 
into the centre of the subject. 

" Chester Birch, born September 1st, 1754;" read the spinster, with great deliberation. 

" ^ell," cried the impatient Caesar, " what he give him ?" 

'■'■Abigail Birch, horn July, 12th, 1757;" continued the housekeeper, in the same 
tone. 

" I guess he give her a spoons," interrupted the black. 

''■June \st, 1760. On this aioful (Imj, the judgment of an offended God lighted on 

7ny house " a heavy groan from the adjoining room made tlie spinster iustincti\ely 

close the book, and Civsar, for a moment, shook with fear. Neither possessed suffi- 
cient resolution to go and examine the condition of the suflerer, but his heavy 
breathing continued as usual. Katy dared not, however, reopen the Bible, and care- 
fully securing its clasps, it was laid on the table in silence. Caesar took his chair again, 
and after looking timidly round the room, remarked — 

" I tought he 'bout to go." 

" No," said Katy, solemnly, " he will live till the tide is out, or the first cock crows 
in the morning." 

" Poor man !" continued the black, nestling still f irther into the chimney corner ; 
" I hope he lay quiet after he die." 

" 'Twould be no astonishment to me if he didn't," returned Katy, glancing her 
eyes round the room, and speaking in an under voice ; " for they say an unqiuet life 
makes an uneasy grave." 

" Johny Birch a berry good man," said tlie black, quite positively. 

" Ah ! Caesar," said the housekeeper, in the same voice, " he is good, only, who 
does good — can you tell me, C»sar, why honestly-gotten gold should be hidden in the 
bowels of the earth ?" 

" If he know where he be, why don't he dig him up ?" asked the black, promptly. 

" There may be reasons not comprehendible to you," said Katy, moving her chair 
so that her clothes covered the charmed stone, underneath which lay the secret treas- 
ures of the peddler, unable to refrain speaking of that which she would have been very 
imwilling to reveal ; " but a rough outside often holds a smooth inside." Caesar stared 
around the building, unable to fathom the hidden meaning of the damsel, when his 
roving eyes suddenly became fixed, and his teeth chattered with afiright. The change 
6 - 



J.2 1' A G E S A N D P 1 C T U K E S . 

in the counteuance of the bhick was instantly perceived by Katy, and turning Jier 
face, slie saw the peddler himself, standing within the door of the room. 

"Is he aUve?" asked Birch, tremulously, and seemingly afraid to receive an answer 
to his own question. 

" Surely," said the maiden, rising hastily and officiously offering her chair to the 
peddler, " lie must live till day or the tide is down." 

Disregarding all hut her assurance, the peddler stole gently to the room of his 
dying parent. The tie which bound this father and son together was one of no or- 
dinary kind. In the wide world they were all to each other. Had Katy but read a 
few lines farther in the record, she would have seen the sad tale of their misfortunes. 
At one blow competence and kindred had been swept from before them, and from 
that day to the present hour, persecution and distress had followed their wandering 
steps. Approaching the bedside, Harvey leaned his body forward, and said, in a voice 
nearly choked by his feelings : 

" Father, do you know me ?" 

The i)arent slowly opened his eyes, and a smile of satisfaction passed ever his pallid 
features, leaving behind it the impression of death in still greater force, by the con- 
trast. The j)eddler gave a restorative he had brought with him to the parched lips 
of the sick man, and for a few minutes new vigor seemed to be imparted to his 
frame. He spoke, but slowly and with difficulty. Curiosity kept Katy silent ; awe 
had the same effect on Cfesar ; and Harvey seemed hardly to breathe, as he listened to 
the language of the departhig sjiirit. 

" My son," said the father, in a hollow voice, " God is as merciful as he is just ; if 
I threw the cup of salvation from my lips when a youth, he graciously offers it to me 
iu mine age. He chastiseth to purify, and I go to join the spirits of our lost family. 
In a little while, my child, you will be alone. I know you too well not to foresee you 
will T)c a lone pilgrim through life. The bruised reed may endure, but it will never 
rise. You have that \\'ithin you, Harvey, that will guide you aright ; persevere as 

you have begun, for the duties of life are never to be neglected — and ." A noise 

in the adjoining room interrupted the dying man, and the impatient peddler hastened 
to learn the cause, followed by Katy and the black. The first glance of his eye on 
the figure in the doorway told the trader but too well, both his errand, and the fate 
that ])robably awaited himself. The intrudei- was a man still young in years, but his 
lineaments bespoke a mind long agitated by evil passions. His dress was of the 
meanest materials, and so raggeil and unseemly, as to give him the appearance of 
studied ])overty. His hair was prematurely whitened, and his smiken, lowering eye, 
!i\oided the bold, forward look of innocence. There was a restlessness in his move- 
ments, and an agitation in his manner, that proceeded from the workings of the foul 
spirit within him, and which was not less offensive to others than distressing to him- 
selt. This man was a well-known leader of one of those gangs of marauders who 



B I R C H I N H I S C T T A G E . 43 

infested tlie county with a semblance of patriotism, and were guilty of every grade of 
oifence, from simple theft up to murder. Behind him stood several other figures clad 
in a similar manner, but whose countenances expressed nothing more than the callous 
indifference of brutal insensibility. They were all well armed with muskets and 
bayonets, and provided with the usual implements of foot soldiers. Harvey know 
resistance to be vain, and quietly submitted to their directions. In the twinkhng of 
an eye both he and Cassar were strij)ped of their decent garments, and made to ex- 
change clothes with two of the filthiest of the band. They were then placed in 
separate corners of the room, and, under the muzzles of the muskets, required faith- 
fully to answer such interrogatories as were put to them. 

" Where is your pack ?" was the first question to the peddler. 

" Hear me," said Birch, trembling with agitation ; " in the next room is my father, 
now in the agonies of death ; let me go to him, receive his blessing, and close his eyes, 
anil you shall have all — aye, all." 

"Answer me as I put the questions, or this musket shall send you to keej) the old 
driveller company; where is your jiack ?" 

"I will tell you nothing, iniless you let me go to my fiither," said the jiecldler, 
resolutely. 

His persecutor raised his arm with a malicious sneer, and was about t<i execute his 
threat, when one of his companions checked him, and cried — 

" What would you do ? you surely forget the reward. Tell us where are your 
goods, and you shall go to your father." 

Birch complied instantly, and a man was dispatched in quest of the booty; he soon 
returned, throwing the bundle on the floor, swearing it was as light as feathers." 

"Aye," cried the leader, "there must be gold somewhere for what it did c'ontain ; 
give us your gold, 3Ir. Birch; we know you have it; you will not take contineiital, 
not you." 

" You break your faith," said Harvey, sullenly. 

"Give us your gold," exclaimed the other, furiously, pricking the peddler with his 
bayonet until the blood followed his pushes in streams. At this instant a slight move- 
ment was heard in the adjoining room, and Harvey cried imploringly — 

" Let me — let me go to my father, and you shall have all." 

"I swear you shall go then," said the skinner. 

"Here take the trash," cried Birch, as he threw aside the p\irse, which he had 
contrived to conceal, notwithstanding the change in his garments. 

" The robber raised it from the floor with a helhsh laugh, as he said coolly — 

" Aye, but it shall be to your Father in heaven." 

"Monster!" exclaimed Birch, "have you no feeling, no faith, no honesty?" 

" Why, to hear him, one would think there was not a rope round his neck already," 
said the other, malignantly. "There is no necessity of your being uneasy, ^fr. Birch ; 



44 PAGESANDPICTURES. 

if the old man gets a few hours the start of you in the journey, you will be sure to 
follow hini before noon to-morrow." 

This unfeeling communieation had no efieet on the peddler, who listened with 
gasping breath to every sound from the room of his parent, until he heard his own 
name spoken in the hollow, sepulchral tones of death. Birch could endure no more, 
but shrieking out — 

" Father, hush — father, I come — I come :" he darted by his keeper, and was the 
next moment i>inned to the wall by the bayonet of another. Fortunately, his quick 
motion had caused him to escape a thrust aimed at his hfe, and it was by his clothes 
only that he was confined. 

"Xo, Mr. Birch," said the skinner, "we know you too well for a sli])pery rascal, to 
trust you o\it of siglit — your gold, your gold." 

"You have it," said the pedtUer, writhing with the agony of his situation. 

" Ay, we have the purse ; but you have more purses. King George is a prompt 
paymaster, and you have done him many a piece of good service. Where is your 
hoard ? without it you will never see your father." 

"Remove the stone underneath the woman," cried the peddler, eagerly — remove 
the stone." 

" He raves, he raves," said Katy, instinctively, moving her position to another stone 
than the one on which she had been standing. In a moment it \\'as torn from its bed, 
and nothing but earth was seen under it. 

" He raves ; you have driven him from his right mind," continued the trembling 
sjiinster, " would any man in his senses think of keeping gold under a hearth-stone ?" 

"Peace, babbling fool," cried Harvey. "Lift the corner stone, and you will find 
what will make you rich, and me a beggar." 

"And then you will be depiseable," said the housekeeper, bitterly. "A peddler 
without goods an<l without money is sure to be desjiiseable." 

" There ^^•ill be enough left to pay for his halter," cried the skiimer, as he ojiened 
upon a store of English guineas. These were quickly transferred to a bag, notwith- 
standing the declarations of the spinster, that her dues were unsatisfied, and that, of 
right, ten of the guineas should be her property. 

Delighted with a prize that greatly exceeded their expectations, the band jire- 
pared to depart, intending to take the peddler Avith tliem, in order to give him up 
to some of the American troops above, and to claim tlie reward oflered for his a))pre- 
liension. Every thing was ready, and they were about to lift Birch in their arms, for 
he refused to move an inch, when a figure entered the room that appalled the group : 
around his body was thrown the sheet of the bed from which lie had just risen, and 
his fixed eye and haggard fixce gave him the appearance of a being from anotlier world. 
Even Katy and Caesar thought it was the spirit of the elder Birch, and they both fled 
the house, followed bv the alarmed skinners. 



BIRCH IN HIS COTTAGE. 



45 



The excitement, whicli had given the sick man strength, soon vanished, and the 
peddler, lifting him in his arms, recouveyed him to his bed. The reaction of the 
system which followed hastened to close the scene. 

The glazed eye of the father was iixed u])on his son ; his lips moved, but his voice 
was unheard. Harvey bent down, and, with his parting breath, received the dying 
benediction of his parent. A life of privation, of care, and of wrongs, embittered most 
of the future hours of the peddler. But under no sufferings, in no misfortunes, the 
subject of poverty and biting obloquy, the remembrance of that blessing never left 
him ; it constantly gleamed over the images of the past, shedding a holy radiance 
around his saddest hours of despondency ; it cheered the prospect of the future with 
the prayers of a pious spirit for his well-being; and it brought assurance to his soid, of 
havinff dischartred faithfully an<l truly the sacred offices of filial love. 



-■-^ X 







THE HIGHLANDS. 



They no^- reached the highest point in their toilsome progress to the summit, and 
Frances seated herself on a rock to rest and to admire. Immediately at her feet lay a 
deep dell, but little altered by ciUtivation, and dark with the gloom of a November 
sunset. Another hill rose opposite to where she sat, at no great distance, along whose 
rugged sides nothing was to be seen but shapeless rocks, and oaks whose stinted 
growth proved the absence of soil. 

To be seen in their perfection, the Highlands nuist be passed immediately after the 
fall of the leaf. The picture is then in its chastest keeping, for neither the scanty 
foliage which the summer lends the trees, nor the snows of winter, are present to con- 
ceal the minutest objects from the eye. Chilling solitude is the char.acteristic of the 
scenery, nor is the mind at liberty, as in March, to look forward to a renewed vegeta- 
tion that is soon to check, without imjiroving the view. 

The day had been cloudy and cool, and thin fleecy clouds hung around the horizon, 
often ])roniising to disperse, but as frequently disapjiointing tlie maid in her expecta- 
tion of a parting beam from the setting sun. At length a solitary gleam of liirht struck 
on the base of the mountain on which she was gazing, and moved gracefully up its 
side, until, reaching the summit, it stood for a minute, forming a crown of glory to the 
sombre pile beneath. So strong were the rays, that what was before indistinct, now 
clearly opened to the view. With a feeling of awe at being thus unex])ectedly ad- 
mitted, as it were, into the secrets of that desert place, Frances gazed intently, until, 
among the scattered trees and fantastic rocks, something Hke a rude structure was 
seen. It was low, and so obscured by the color of its materials, that but for its roof, 
and the glittering of a window, it must have escaped her notice. While yet lost in the 
astonishment created by discovering a habitation for man in such a spot, on moving her 
eyes she perceived another object that increased her wonder. It apparently was a 
human figure, but of singular mould and unusual deformity. It stood on the edge of a 
rock but a little above the hut, and it was no difficult task for our heroine to fancy it 
was gazing at the vehicles that were ascending the side of the mount.ain beneath her. 
The distance, however, was too great for her to distinguish with precision. After 
looking at it a moment in breathless wonder, Frances had just come to the conclusion 
that it was ideal, and that what she saw was a part < f the rock itself, when the object 
moved swiftly from its position, and glided into the hut, at once removhig any doubts 



THE HIGHLANDS. 



47 



as to the nature of either. AVhether it was owing to the recent conversation that she 
had been holding witli Katy, or to some fancied resenihhmce that slie discerned, Frances 
thought, as tlie figure vanished from lier ^•ie\^■, tliat it bore a marked Ukeness to Bircli, 
moving under the weight of his pack. She continued to gaze in breatliless silence 
toward the mysterious residence, when the gleam of light passed away, and at the same 
instant the tones of a bugle rang tliroiigh the glens and hollows, and were re-echoed in 
every direction. Springing on her feet in alarm, the maid lieard tlie tranijiling of 
horses, and directly a party in the well-kno^\■n uniform of the Vii'ginians came sweep- 
ing round the point of a rock near her, and drew up at a short distance from where 
she stood. Again the bugle sounded a lively strain, and before the agitated girl had 
time to rally her thoughts, Dunwoodie dashed l)y the party of dragoons, threw liimself 
from his charger, and advanced to the side of his mistress. 




"i^iMi 




COOPERSTOWN FHoM Ki.Ai ;. liiKu i--n:*r. 



III. 



THE PIONEERS. 



The earliest years of the antlior of "The Spy" were passed intlie little village 
on the shores of Lake Otsego. Althona;h born at BurlinKtim, he was carried when 
an infant a few weeks old, to the hamlet then growing np at the eastern sources 
of the Susquehanna. His childish recollections were all closely connected with 
the forests and hills, the fresh clearings, new fields and homes on the banks of 
the Otsego. It was here his boy's strength was first tried in those sports to which 
gray -headed men, amid the cares of later life, delight to look back. From the 
first bow-and-arrow, kite, and ball, to later feats in fishing, riding, shooting, skat- 
ing, all were connected with his highland home. It was on the waters of the 
Otsego that he first learned to handle an oar, to trim a sail. Ilealtliy and active, 
he delighted in every exercise of the kind — a brave, blitlie-liearted, impetuous, 



T H K 1' J O N E E R S . 49 

iiiorit geiitiruus and upriglit buy, as he i.s reiuenibered by thosu wlm knew him in 
childhood 

Master Oliver Cory kept the village school in those days, and for many years 
later. He was a man remarkably well (pialitied fur that honorable post, laborious, 
npright, firm in discipline, yet patient and kindly by nature. Ilis training of the 
boys- under his care was excellent. Every Saturday was devoted to religious 
instruction, while morals and manners were the subject of careful, though cpiiet 
attention on his part. Among his pupils was the youngest son of Judge Cooper, 
considered by his master as a very promising and intelligent lad. The school 
was kept in an ambitious edifice called the Academy, described as " one of those 
tasteless buildings that afflict all new countries." It served many difterent pur- 
poses in its day ; political meetings, religious services and the public courts were 
held under its roof, varied by an occasional ball. Those were not the times of 
lectures or concerts. Master Cory and his pupils, however, seem to have had a 
taste fur music ; Judge Cooper had brought from Philadelphia a large upi'iglit 
barrel-organ, of more than common power and dignity of exterior, altogether the 
most imposing musical instrument which had yet found its way to the shores of 
the Otsego ; it was put up in the hall of the mansion-house, where for years it 
went on playing reels, and country dances, almost every evening, to say nothing 
of its many graver performances. The arrival of this organ in the village, pro- 
duced a sensation which might be compared to the appearance of some brilliant 
musical star, some prima ^onna assoluta in a large town, at the present day ; 
when carefully put in its position, and duly prepared for performance, a sort of 
rehearsal was held ; the weather was wann, the broad doors and ample windows 
of the house were all open as usual, and as Master Oliver Cory soon learned to his 
cost. The Academy stood on the street adjoining the grounds of Otsego Hall, 
and as the first strains of Hail Columbia poured into the school-room, the eft'ect 
on the children was electrical, never before had they heard such music. Jenny 
Lind could scarcely have delighted the students of a German university in a 
higher degree. Astonishment, inattention, confusion, succeeded each other ; at 
length disorder and disorganization threatened the whole school ; fortunately 
Master Cory, equal to the emergency, saw clearly the only course to be taken : 

" Boys, that organ is a remarkable instrument. You have never heard the 
like of it before. I give you half an hour's intermission ; go into the street, and 
listen to the music !" 

But Master Cory and his pupils were not always content to play audience ; 
they chose to be performers themselves sometimes. Annual exhibitions took 
place, during which the Academy was thronged, to hear the speeches of Coriolanus 



50 P AU E S A N D P I C T U RE S. 

and lago, of Brutus and Cassius, delivered by raw lads from the village and ad- 
joining farms, equipped in the local militia uniform, liats of the date of 1776, 
blue coats faced with red, and matross swords, exhibitions which are still a sub- 
iect for merriment among the few who remember them. The future author of 
" Tlie Pioneers," then a child some eight years old, was much commended on one 
of these occasions for his moving recitation of the "Beggars' Petition," in the 
character of an old man, wrapped in a faded cloak, and bending over his staff; 
it is to be feared that Master Cory, half a century later still indulged in certain 
emotions of undue pride when dwelling on the correctness of his little p^ipil's 
pathetic performance on that occasion. 

Ere long, however, a school of higher aims, in the way of instruction, was 
deemed necessary. The youngest son of the house was sent from home. Tliis 
tirst eventful journey was made iiiider the care of a worthy farmer of the neigh- 
borhood, who was carrying toward the Hudson, a load of wheat, from the new 
fields of Otsego, then considered a great gi-ain country. Tlie route taken was the 
turnpike, a great western thoroughfare at that day, miming between the valley 
of tlie Hudson and the Chenango River. This road had been only recently com- 
pleted as far as Cherry Valley, and wonders were expected from it ; the young 
traveller had heard this new triumph of civilization so nmch discussed at his 
father's table, by the gentlemen visiting at the house, that his curiosity to see it 
was extreme. Directors and stockholders were endeavoring to solve the ditiicixlt 
question of what shoiild be done with the proceeds of the tolls, a dividend of ten 
per cent, being all that was allowed by the charter ; stone bridges were planned ; 
nay, some visionary spirits even talked of the necessity of lighting the road at 
night, as a means of disposing of the surplus fund. At length they arrived at 
the famous turnpike ; the school-boy's eyes were gratified with actual observation 
of its magnificent breadth, its scientific construction, the directness of its conrse, 
the excellence of its condition — merits which to one who reached it by the primi- 
tive, irregular, corduroy tracks then the common highways of the region, were 
very impressive, indeed. As they trotted slowly along, the former pointed ont 
among other marvels, the taverns which were springing up within sight of each 
other, throughout the sixty miles between Albany and Lake Otsego: "A tavern 
for every mile !" as it was boastfully proclaimed ; a fact certainly remarkable, 
showing clearly as it does the very rapid strides with which civilization moved 
over new ground at that period. A long train of farm wagons, heavily laden 
with the precious wheat, then higher than ever in value, owing to the great Euro- 
pean Avars, were rolling slowly eastward, and the number of emigrant teams, 
crowded with growing families and household gear, moving in the opposite direc- 



THEPIONEERS. 51 

tion toward the lake shores, were all full of interest for the yoiino; traveller, and 
seemed to promise ample prosperity to the new I'oad, and the county. But, alas 
for the great turnpike ; its track is now quiet and all but deserted, its toll-gates 
have been thrown down, its stone bridges were never built, its lamps were never 
liglited! Traffic from the quiet shores of the Otsego now moves northward, fol- 
lowing the trail of the old Indian portage toward the A-alley of the ilohawk. Li 
1798, there was movement enough, however, on the new road to render it no 
unworthy approach to the capital of the state. Ere long the young traveller 
reached Albany. 

He was set down at the door of St. Peter's Rectory. Here he became a ]i)upil 
of the Rev. Mr. Ellison, an English clergyman of high scholarshij), who received 
three or foin- boys into his family. The young lad from Otsego soon became a 
favorite with his tutor, who took pleasure in instructing him. Had Mr. Ellison 
lived, his pupil's career might have been difl'erent ; though it is scarcely j)robable 
that one so active in body, as well as iu mind, would have been satisfied with the 
quiet and comparative monotony of a student's life. In 1802, Mr. Ellison died. 
His pupil soon after entered Yale College, at the early age of thirteen. At the 
close of three years more he went to sea, his first voyages being made before the 
mast, to England and to Spain. Li 1805, he entered the navy. Some years 
later his marriage gave him an interest in another part of the country ; but in all 
the wanderings of early life, and still at a later day, the home of his childhood, 
the highland valley where his father's hearth-stone lay, was never forgotten by 
him. 

And now that a new career was opening before him, his eyes were again 
turned toward the forest-clad hills at the soui-ces of the Susquehanna. Tlie Spy 
was just finished ; the glow of success was still fresh upon him when he again 
resolved to " try one more book !" The new narrative, like that which had pre- 
ceded it, was to be connected in one sense witli the histor}- of the country ; it 
should follow the first steps of civilization in its conquests over the wilderness, 
and its scenes should be enacted in the vallev of the Otsego. AJiection for the 
ground, interest in the people, the pleasing character of the natural scenery, all 
united to point out the banks of the highland lake as fitting frame-work for his 
pictures. The new book was immediately commenced, and Xatty Bunipjjo, with 
his silent footfall, stepped from beneath the shadows of the old pines into the 
winter sunlight. 

There was an old himter by the name of Shipman living in the Otsego hills 
during the first years of the little colony, who came frequently to offer his game 
at Judge Cooper's door, and whose rude equipment, dogs, and rifle, had much 



52 PAGESANDPICTURES. 

attraction fur the lads of tlio liouse. But even tlicn, at tlie close of the first ten 
or fifteen years of clearing, game was no longer as abundant as it had been. 
The -wild creatures were already bounding away before the sound of the axe. 
Occasionally, it is true, a bear was seen feasting on the wild fruits which usually 
grow in profusion on the borders of newly-cleared ground, or mayhap he was 
surprised by the hunters in one of the shallow caves of those hills, wliere lie 
had lain down for his long winter nap. The peculiar wailing cry of the sharp- 
toothed panther, so like the voice of woman in distress, was still heard at times 
by the wanderer on the ipiiet wood-roads. Now and then the howl of the wolf 
came across the icy field of the Otsego, in the winter nights. The doer lingered 
last ; they wei'c not unfrequently seen, bounding through the forest, or drinking 
at familiar springs, during the first three or four years of this century. One 
autunm day, the future author of " Tiie Pioneers," then a pupil under Master 
Cory's charge, was at play in his father's garden, when suddenly he was sur- 
prised by a deer which came leaping over the fence from the street, almost brush- 
ing his face, as it bounded away into the pine-wood in the rear of the house, dogs 
and men in hot jiursuit. The incident was even then so unusual as to make a 
great impression on the boy. In after years, when walking with his children 
over the same g)-ound, Mr. Cooi^er repeatedly spoke of it. And this is said to 
have been one of the last of those beautiful creatures driven in chase through 
the village, and over ground where so very lately they had roamed at will. 
They still continued, however, to be hunted among the hills, and in tlie lake, for 
several years longer. At length they gradually took flight, retreating to the 
wilder mountains to the southwai-d, wliere Shipman and his brother hunters were 
compelled to ibllow them, or else exchange the rifle for the axe. A vague recol- 
lection of Shipman seems to have lingered in the mind of the writer, and to 
have suggested the idea of the principal character in " The Pioneers." And yet 
to call this man the original fif JSTatty Bumppo, would be clearly an error. The 
assertion is true only just so far as the barest resemblance in outline niay go — in 
pursuit, something in rude accoutrement, and in the ground over which they both 
hunted. Here all similarity ceases. In every higher sense of the M'ords, the 
character of Natty is wholly original ; in all that gives worth, and dignity, and 
poetry, and soul, to the conception, it comes in full freshness and freedom, direct 
from the mind (.)f the author. 

Many of the figures filling the canvas of ''The Pioneers" are said to have 

once lived on the same ground. But there is no one instance in which this 

assertion is strictly true. There is no character in the book Avhicli the writer 

■ aimed at copying closely from real life ; some vague resemblance may be traced 



THE PIONEERS. 



53 



liere and there, but in most instances tlie personages are wholly lictitious. 
Classes were represented, and not individuals. 

Chingachgook, old Indian John, is supposed to have been drawn from life; but 
this again is an error. The character is imaginary. The head-waters of the Sus- 
(piehanna were favorite hunting-ground with the neighboring tribes, but they had 
no permanent village on the ground. Their forts, or " castles," as these M'ere so 
strangely miscalled Ity the whites, and tlieir burial-places, lay on either hand, 
north or south, in the valley of the Mohawk, or on the soiithern banks of the 
Susquehanna. They did not, therefore, linger on the shores of the Otsego, as at 
some other points ; when the white man appeared with his team, his plough, and 
his axe, they abandoned their canoes on the lake, gave up its choice fish to his 
steel hook and twine net, and followed the flying game farther toward the setting 
sun ; or, in diminished numbers, they still wandered to and fi*o, over ground 
rendered sacred to them by older traditions connected witli their lodges, and the 
graves of their fathers. Occasionally only they came in family groups, or in 
small parties, to taste the bass, or tap the maples in the forest, during the first 
years of the village. But it is not known that any one individual remained long 
enough to fill the position ascrilied ti) Chingachgook in "The Pioneers." 







An Indian alarm, however, occurred rpiite as a matter of course in connection 
with the early days of most American frontier hamlets. In the annals of the 
village, the year 1794, or that following the date given in the opening chapter 
of " The Pioneers," is especially remembered for an incident of this kind. A 
large party of Indians — of what tribe, we are not told — were seen lurking in 
the woods within a short march of the village. As they did not show themselves 
openly, but sought or afiected concealment, their movements naturally excited 
suspicion. Their numbers were, of course, exaggerated ; the women and chil- 



54 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



dren were thrown into great alarm, and some of the good people seem to have 
actually feared a repetition of the horrors of Clierry Valley, so thoroughly im- 
pressed on the household memories of the county. 

It was deemed prudent to take steps for defence ; weapons were prej^ared for 
action, and scouts were sent out into the woods to watch the red men. Mean- 
wliile, witli well-barred doors and windows, the women and children were 
gathered in their homes. Suddenly, in the dead of night, the report of firearms 
was heard, and the tramp of horse and foot passed along the quiet street. Had 
the scouts returned ! Were tlie Indians upon them ! The whole village was 
aroused and thrown into strange alarm. The men hurried into the street to face 
a possible foe ; they were met l)y a party of constables, who had gone out in pur- 
suit of a gang of counterfeiters, and now, returning at midniglit with their 
prisoners, had fired ofi' their pistols on entering the village, thus throwing the 
little community into great agitation. It was not until the next day that the 
alarm subsided. The Indians, not long after, passed noiselessly on their way 
through the forest; the object of their approach was never known. This is said to 
have been the last occasion on which the red men drew near the village in sufficient 
numliers to assume in any way the aspect of a war-party, moving over old forest 
pathways of their own, so long familiar to their race, but now wholly effaced by 
the plough of the white man. AVhatever may have been their oliject, whatever 
feeling of secret enmity may have lurked in their hearts, this party could never 
have actually plotted any work of general violence against the little colony ; the 
day for massacre had wholly passed away. The horrors of Cherry Valley dated 
nearly twenty years Ijack in time, and a century in facts. 

It has been said that the character of Mr. Grant, the missionary, was drawn 
from life. The assertion is entirely unfounded. Tlie author of "The Pioneers" 
had much too strong a personal regard for the venerable clergyman supposed to 
be referred to imder the name of Mr. Grant, to have wished to introduce him 
into a work of iiction. On the contrary, he has filled the position actually 
occupied by him with a figure purely imaginary, and, in many personal particu- 
lars, directly the opposite of Father Nash. The trials and difficulties of mis- 
sionary life at that day, on frontier ground, were great ; and probably not one of 
his brethren suffered more privations from poverty, and the many hardsliips of a 
new country, than the venerable man whose sincere piety, earnest zeal, courage, 
and perseverance were greatly blessed to the many parishes of that region, 
springing np under his laborious itinerant ministry. But between Mr. Grant, the 
missionary of "The Pioneers," and Father Nash, there is absolutely no resem- 
blance whatever to be traced, beyond that of position, and the peculiar trials 



T H E P 1 O N E E R S . 55 

connected with it. Tliis was jirecisely what the writer aimed at representing, 
piu-poselv avoiding any approach to individual portraiture of character or person. 
A single glance at the household circle of each will show how little the aiithor 
of "' The Pioneers" aimed at presenting his honored friend to the public under a 
feigned name ; instead of being the sad, subdued, bereaved man, with one living 
child remaining of a large family, Avhich Mr. Grant is represented, Father Nash, 
at the same period of his missionary labors, full of life and vigor himself, was 
blessed with a most worthy and diligent wife, and surrounded with a large flock 
of young children, most of whom survived him. 

In one parii.-ular, however, the trials of real life were even greater, jierhaps, 
than those of the tictitious narrative. It seems to us, of the present hour, almost 
incredible that suiiering for want of food should have ever been known, by any 
but the very improvident, in this land of plenty. Such, however, was not the case. 
Scarcity was repeatedly felt by all during the first years of settlement, more 
especially by the families of the farmers, living beyond the village ; and it is 
well known that the poor missionary family suflered severely in this way, on 
more than one occasion. There were those at hand however, always i-eady to 
offer relief, where privation was known. Tlie most severe trial of this kind occurred 
during the season still remembered as " the starving time," in the traditions of 
the country, and whicli fell upon the wliole region, for many miles beyond the 
lake shores. It was at an early day when the green fields were yet very few, 
when there were no roads through the forest, and no mills to grind the little corn 
among the stores of the colonists. Tlie hamlet was then literally in the heart of 
a wilderness, and the number of newly arrived emigrants increasing beyond the 
amount of food within reach, something approaching to actual famine was felt in 
many a cabin. Families accustomed to abundance, in the homes they had left 
farther eastward, were now pining for the want of daily bread, the poor 
Uungry children feeding on the scrapings of the iron pots in which their sapaen 
iiad been prepared. In this emergency, the leader of the little colony exerted 
himself to the utmost ; grain was purchased at a distance, brought up the Mohawk 
in boats, thence on pack horses through the forest, from Canajoharie and Fort 
Plain, out dealt and liberally to the people. Most happily shoals of herring came 
up the Susquehanna, from the Chesapeake, at the same moment, filling the lake 
so abundantly, that they were actually dipped out of the water, by the bucket- 
ful. Salt was sent for in great quantities, and the fish were cured, and carried 
into the cabins of the people, scattered through the neighboring woods. The 
pigeons also came in large flocks, and after a period of great distress for some 
weeks, plenty was once more restored to the half famished people. 



\ 



56 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



,5 




The miniber i.)f foreigners finding their way to the sliores of this quiet inland 
lalce at that early day, was quite reniarkahle. Among these, were several French- 
men, driven from their own country by the terrors of the Eevolution. A few 
incidents of border life, connected with their history are given in the words of 
Mr. Cooper: 

" In the course of the winter of 17S9-!)0, during one of the periodical visits 
of Colonel Frey [Colonel Ilendrick Frey, of Frey's Bush, on the Mohawk], a 
large lumlter-sleigh was fitted out, with four horses, and the Mdiole party sallied 
out upon the lake, for a morning drive. An ex-officer of the French army, a 
Monsieur Ebbal, resided by himself, on the western l)ank of the lake. Perceiv- 
ing the sleigh, and four horses approaching his house, this gentleman with the 
courtesy of liis nation, went forth upon the ice, to greet the party, of whose 
character he was not ignorant, by the style in which it appeared. Mr. Cooper 
invited his French friend to join him, promising him plenty of game, with copious 
libations of Madeira, by way of inducement. Tliongh a good table companion in 
general, no persuasion could 2^1'evail on the Frenchman to accept the ofl'er that 
day, while, provoked by his obstinacy, the party laid violent hands on him, and 
brought him to the village by force. 

" Monsieur Ebbal took his caj)tivity in good part, and was soon as buoyant 
and gay as any of his cornpanions. He habitually wore a long-skirted surtout, 
which at tliat time was almost a mark of a Frenchman, and tliis surtout he per- 
tinaciously refused to lay aside, even when he took his seat at table. On the con- 
trary, he kept it buttoned to the very throat, as it might be in defiance. The 
Christmas joke, a plentiful board, and abundant potations, however, threw the 
guest ofl' his guard. Warmed with wine and the blazing fire, he incautiously 
unbuttoned ; when his delighted companions discovered that the accidents of a 
frontier life, the establishment of a bachelor who kept no servant, and certain irreg- 
ularities in washing-days, that were attendant on both circumstances, coupled with 
his emprcssenient to salute his friends, had induced the gallant Frenchman to come 
abroad without a shirt. He was ^incased on the spot, amid the roars of the 



T H E PI ON K ERS. 57 

co7ivti)i'S, and incontinently pnt into linen. '' Cooper was so polite," added the 

mirth-loving Hendrick Frev, when he repeated the story for the hundredth time, 

' that lie supplied a shirt with ruffles at the wristbands, which made Ebbal very 

happy tor the rest of the eyening. How his hands did go, after he got the 

rutHes !' 

" These wags told Monsieur Ebbal, that if chased by a bear, the most certain 

mode of escape was to thi-ow away his hat or his coat, to induce the animal to 

stop and smell at it, and then to profit by the occasion, and climb a sapling that 

was too small to enable his enemy to fasten its claw in it, in the way it is known 

to ascend a tree. The advice was well enough ; but the advised having actually 

an occasion to follow it the succeeding autumn, scrambled up a sapling fii-st, and 

began to throw away his clothing afterward. The bear, a she one, ■with cubs. 

tore to pieces garment after garment, without quitting the spot, keeping ])(>oi- 

Ebbal treed throughout a cool autumnal night, almost as naked as when he 

uncased at the celebrated Christmas banquet. It appears that the real name of 

this person was Zi'Ahhe de Rdffrourt."' 

« * * * » * * 

"In 1801, a man dressed in a sailor's jacket, withoiit stockings, or neckcloth, 
but cleanly, and otherwise of res]icctable appearance, and who seemed of middle 
age, presented himself to Judge Coo})er, with a request to know whether a small 
piece of low meadow land, that lies between ' Fenimore' and the village, was to 
be sold. The answer was in the affirmative, but the applicant was informed that 
on account of its position, the price would be relatively high, amounting to a con- 
siderable sum. Tiie stranger requested that a deed might immediately be made 
of it, and he counted down the money, in gold, giving his name as Esaias Hans- 
man. Mr. Hausman left the hall the owner of the lot in question, which has 
ever since been known as the ' Hausman lot.' Tlie habits, attainments and 
character of this man soon attracted attention. He spoke five or six of the living 
languages, and had a tolerable knowledge of the classics. He lived entirely alone, 
in a small house he had caused to be built on his purchase, and in the rudest 
maimer. Occasionally he would disappear, and his absences sometimes extended 
to months. He frequently spoke of his past life, though it is not known that he 
ever gave any explicit or connected history of his origin, or of the events that led 
him to America. According to his own account of his adventures, he had served 
in the French imperial army, and he was once heard to say that the death of 
Robespierre alone saved him from the block. Casual remarks of this kind in- 
creased curiosity, when Hausman became more reserved, and soon ceased to 
touch at all on the events of his past life. Some time about the year 1805, he 
8 



.•)8 PAGESANDPICTURES. 

had been absent for several jaontlis, when it was discovered that lie was teachinjr 
Hebrew to the president of one of the Eastern Colleges. Tliis occupation did not 
last long, however, for he was soon back again, in his hut on the lake shore. In 
this manner, this singular man passed many years, apparently undetermined in 
his purposes, rude, and even coarse in many of his habits, but always cour. 
teous and intelligent. He died at Herkimer, in 1812, and without making any 
revelations concerning himself, or his family. As he died intestate, his 
property escheated, the lot on the lake shore being sold by the public. It is 
said that a considerable sum in gold was found in a purse, worn between his 
shoulder-blades. 

" Nothing farther was ever known of Esaias Hausman. He was certainly' 
shrewd and observant, and his ac<piisitions, which were a little exaggerated, 
probably, by vulgar report, were of that kind which denote, in Europe, a respect- 
able education. He had not the appearance or manner of a Polish gentleman, 
though he called himself a Pole, and the most probable conjecture concerning 
him, a conjecture which we believe is sustained by some of his own remarks, 
made him a Jew. The name is German, but the people of that persuasion often 
assume new appellations." 

4f- ***** * 

" M. Le Quoy excited a good deal of interest during his stay in the place, as 
he was a man altogether superior to his occupation, which was little more than 
that of a country grocer ; an interest that was much increased by the following 
circumstance. 

" Among the early settlers in Otsego county was M. Louis de Villers, a 
French gentleman of respectable extraction and good manners. M. de Villers 
was at Cooperstown, about the year 1793, at a moment when a countryman, a M. 
Renouard, who afterward established himself in the county, had recently reached 
the place. M. Kenouard was a seaman, and had the habit of using tobacco. 
Inquiring of M. de Villers where he could make a purchase of the weed, M. de 
Villers directed him to the shop of M. Le Quoy, telling him he could help a 
countryman by making his purchase there. In a few minutes M. Renouard 
returned froin the shop, agitated and pale. M. de Villers inquired if he were 
unwell. ' Who is the man who sold me this tobacco V demanded M. Renouard. 
' M. Le Quoy is a countryman of ours. ' Yes ; M. Le Quoy de Mersereau !' ' I 
know nothing about the de Mersereau ; he calls himself Le Quoy. Do you 
know any thing of him?' ' Wlien I went to Martinique, to be port-captain of 
St Pierre,' answered M. Renouard, ' this man was the civil governor of the island, 
and refused to confirm my appointment.' 



THE PION E E us. c;), 

"Subsequent inquiry confirmed this story, M. Le Quoy explaining,' tliat the 
influence of a lady liad stood in the way of M. Renouard's in-efernient. 

"The history of M. Le Quoy has since been ascertained to l>e as follows: 
When governor of Martinique, he had it in his power to do a friendly office to 
Mr. John Murray, of New York, by liberating one of his shijis ; Mr. Murray 
being at the head of the old and highly respectable coninicrcial house of John 
Murray and Sons, then one of the principal firms of the country, this act 
brought about an exchange of civilities between Mr. Murray and M. Le Quoy. 
which continued for years. When the Fi-eneli Revolution drove M. Le Quoy 
from the island, he repaired to New York, and sought his friend ilr. Murray, to 
whom he stated that he had a small sum of money, which he wished to invest in 
a country store, until his fortunes might revive. Between Mr. M\irray and 
Judge Cooper there existed an intimacy, and to the latter gentleman M. Le Quo\- 
was referred. Under the advice of Judge Cooper, M. Le Quoy established him- 
self in Coojierstown, where he remained a year or two. At the end of tliat 
time he made his peace with the new French government, and quitting his 
retreat, he was employed for some months in superintending the accounts of the 
different French consulates in this country. It is said that he soon after returned 
to Martinique in his old capacity, and died the first season of yellow fever. . . . 
The following letter appears to have been written by liim soon after he left Coop- 
erstown, and at the moment he commenced his consular duties : 

"'Philadelphia, October 10, 1794. 
" ' Deae Sie : — I have experienced too much of your friendshij) to believe you 
will not hear of my fate with some degree of concern. I am to go to Charleston, 
S. C, about some business which will keep me most all the winter. I hope for a 
more permanent employment than what I have at present ; if not, I know where 
to find peace, good business, good friends. I shall always consider you among 
the number. 

" 'I wish you and all your family health and happiness. 

" ' And I remain, dear sir, yom- most humble servant, 

" ' F. T. Le QroY. 
" ' MoNS. W. Cooper, in Cooperstown, Otsego county.' " 

The singular name of this gentleman, who is said to have died without repre- 
sentatives, M-as given to the French emigrant of "Tlie Pioneers," the character 
of the latter, however, was entirely imaginary 



Oo 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



In the chapter selected fur this volume from "The Pioneers," the reader will 
find an allusion to a jiiece of artillery, very famous in its day among the good 
people on the lake shores, and to whose report the Otsego hills have a thousand 
times re-echoed on days of rejoicing. This was the "Cricket," so thorone-hlv 
enjoyed hy all the lads of the village. 




Tile following account of the "Cricket" is given in Mr. Cooper's words: 
"The present site of Cooperstown is connected with an event of some interest, 
which occurred during the war of the Eevolution. An expedition having been 
commanded to proceed under the orders of General Sullivan, against the Indians 
who then dwelt in the vicinity of Seneca Lake, a brigade employed in the duty, 
under Brigadier-General James Clinton, father of the celebrated Do Witt Clin- 
ton, marched from Albany for that purpose. After ascending the Mohawk as far 
as Fort Plain, this brigade cut a road through the forest to the head of Lake 
Otsego, whither it transported its boats. Traces of this road exist, and are still 
known by the name of the Continental Road. Embarking at the head of the 
lake, the troops descended to the outlet, where they encamped on the site of the 
present village. General Clinton's quarters are said to have been in a small 
building of hewn logs, which then stood in what are now the grounds of Otsego 
Hall, and which it is thought was erected by Colonel Croghan, as a place in 
wliich he might hold his negotiations with the Indians, as well as for a com- 
mencement of the settlement. 

"This building, which was aboiit fifteen feet square, and intended for a sort 
of block-house, was undoubtedly the first ever erected on this spot. It was sub- 



THE PIONEERS. 



Gl 



sequeiitly used by some of the first settlers as a dwelling, and by Judo-e Cooper 
as a suioke-lionse. There were found the graves of two white men in the same 
grounds, which M'ore believed to contain the bodies of deserters, who were shot 
at the time the troops were encamped there. These graves are supposed to have 
been the first of any civilized men in the township of Otsego. All traces of 
them have now disapj^eared. 

"As soon as encamped, the troops of General Clinton commenced the con- 
struction of a dam at the outlet, and when the water had risen to a suflicient 
height in the lake, the obstruction was removed, the current clearing the bed of 
the river of flood-wood. After a short delay for this purpose, the troops em- 
barked and descended tlie river as far as the junction with the Tioga, where thev 
were met by another brigade commanded by Genei-al Sullivan in person. On this 
occasion the Su.S(]uehanna below the dam is said to have been so much reduced 
that a man could jump over it. Traces of the dam still exist, and for many 
years they were very obvious. 



-'S^., 



-i« 






?;'?-^>l« I 







j.r^.ta^'ik MX 



"At a later day, in digging the cellar of the Imuse first occupied by Judge 
Cooper, a large iron swivel was discovered, which was said to have been buried 
by the troops, who found it M'as useless for their service. Tliis swivel was tlie 
only piece of artillery used for the purposes of salutes and merry-makings in the 
vicinity of Cooperstown for years after the settlement of the country. It is well 
and aflectionately remembered by the name of the '' Cricket," and was bursted 
lately in the same good cause of rejoicing on the fourth of July. At the time 
of its final disaster, for it met with many vicissitudes by field and flood, having 
actually been once thrown into the lake, it is said that there was no very percepti- 
ble difterence in size between its touch-hole and its muzzle." 



62 PAGESANDPICTURES. 

With a few more remarks from Mr. Cooper's pen, these notes to " Tlie 
Pioneers" must close : 

" In order to ]>revent mistake, it may be ■well to say that tlie incidents of this 
tale are purely a tiction. The literal facts are chiefly eonnected with the natural 
and artificial objects, and the customs of the inhabitants. The academy, and 
court-house, and jail, and inn, and most similar things, are tolerably exact. 
They have all, long since, given place to buildings of a better character. There 
is some liberty taken with the truth in the description of the principal dwelling ; 
the real building had no ' firstly' or ' lastly.' It was of bricks, and not of 
stone; and its roof exhibited none of the beauties of the 'composite order.' It 
was erected in an age too primitive for that ambitious school of architecture. 
But the author indulged his recollections freely when he had fairly entered the 
door. Here all is literal, even to the severed vase of Wolfe, and the urn which 
held the ashes of Queen Dido." 

" The author has elsewhere said that the character of Leather-Stocking is a 
creation, rendered probable by such auxiliaries as were necessary to produce that 
effect. Had he drawn still more upon fancy, the lovers of fiction would not have 
so much cause for their objections to his work. Still the picture would not have 
been in the least true, without some substitute for most of the other personages. 
The great proprietor resident on his lands and giving his name to, instead of re- 
ceiving it from his estates, as in Europe, is common over all New York. The 
physician with his theory-, rather obtained than corrected by experiments on the 
human constitution ; the pious, self-denying, laborious, and ill-paid missionary ; 
the half-educated, litigious, envious, and disreputable lawyer, with his counter- 
poise, a brother of the profession, of better origin and of better character; the 
shiftless, bargaining, discontented seller of his " betterments ;" the plausible 
carpenter, and most of the others, are familiar to all who have ever dwelt in a new 
coimtry." 

" It may be well to say here, a little more explicitly, that there was no inten- 
tion to describe M'ith particular accuracy any real characters in this book. It has 
been repeatedly said — and in published statements — that the heroine of this 
book was drawn after a sister of the writer, who was killed by a fall from a 
horse now nearly half a century since. So ingenious is conjecture, that a per- 
sonal resemblance has been discovered between the fictitious character and 
the deceased relative. It is scarcely possible to describe two females of the same 
class in iiie, who would be less alike, personally, than Elizabeth Temple and the 
sister of tJie author, who met with the deplorable fate mentioned. In a word, 
they were as unlike in this respect as in history, character, and fortunes." 



THE PIONEERS. 



63 



" Circumstances rendered this sister singularly dear to the author. After a 
lapse of half a century, he is writing this paragraph with a pain that would 
induce him to cancel it, were it not still more i>ainful to have it believed that 
one whom he regarded with a reverence that surpassed the love of a brother, was 
converted by him into the heroine of a work of fiction." 

"From circnnistanccs which, after this introduction, will be obvious to all, 
the author has had more pleasure in writing "The Pioneers"' than the bt)ok will, 
probably, ever give any of its readers. lie is quite aware of its numerous faults, 
some of these he has endeavored to repair in this edition ; but, as he has, in 
intention, at least — done his full share in amusing the world, he trusts to its good 
nature for overlooking this attempt to please himself." 





NATTY liUMPPO a L :a\ li. 



PIGEON-SHOOTING. 



From this time to the close of April, the weather continued to be a succession of 
great and rapid changes. One day, the soft airs of spring would seem to be stealing 
along the valley, and, in unison with an invigorating sun, attemjitbig, covertly, to rouse 
the dormant powers of the vegetable world ; while on the next, the surly blasts from 
the north would sweep across the lake, and erase every impression left by their gentle 
adversaries. The snow, however, finally disappeared, and the green wheat-fields were 
seen in every direction, spotted with the dark and charred stumps that had, the pre- 
ceding season, supported some of the proudest trees of the forest. Ploughs were in 
motion, wherever those useful implements could be used, and the smokes of the sugar- 
camps were no longer seen issuing from the summits of the woods of maple. The lake 
had lost all the characteristic beauty of a field of ice, but still a dark and gloomy cover- 
ing concealed its waters, for the absence of currents left them yet hid under a ])orous 
crust, which, saturated with the fluid, barely retained enough of its strength to preserve 
the contiguity of its parts. Large flocks of wild geese were seen passing over the 
country, which hovered, for a time, around the hidden sheet of water, ajiparently 



-I ^ .,^. 




" Its far e 1 ■ 
than either youni 



tJi&n tolui abuch on the 
i-nA fryini a \'niinjipr hand 



"NEW YORK, WATOWMSEND * C<^ 



PIGEON -SHOOTIXG. 65 

searching for an opening, where they niiglit find a resting-place ; and then, on finding 
themselves excUided by the chill covering, would soar away to the north, filling the air 
with their discordant screams, as if venting their complaints at the tardy operations of 
nature. 

For a week, the dark covering of the Otsego was left to the imdisturbed possession 
of two eagles, who alighted on the centre of its field, and sat proudly eyeing the extent 
of their undisputed territory. During the presence of these monarchs of the air, the 
flocks of migrating birds avoided crossing the plain of ice, by turning into the hills, 
apparently seeking the protection of the forests, while the white and bald heads of the 
tenants of the lake were turned upward, with a look of majestic contempt, as if pene- 
trating to the very heavens with the acuteness of their vision. But the time had come 
when even these kings of birds were to be dispossessed. An opening had been 
gradually increasing, at the lower extremity of the lake, and around the dark spot 
where the current of the river had prevented the formation of ice, during even the 
coldest weather ; and the fresh southerly winds, that now breathed freely up the valley, 
obtained an impression on the waters. Mimic waves began to curl over the margin of 
the frozen field, which exhibited an outline of crystallizations, that slowly receded 
toward the north. At each step the power of the winds and the waves increased, 
until, after a struggle of a few hours, the turbulent little billows succeeded in setting 
the whole field in an undulating motion, when it was driven beyond the reach of the 
eye, with a rapidity that was as magical as the change produced in the scene by this 
expulsion of the lingering remnant of winter. Just as the last sheet of agitated ice 
was disappearing in the distance, the eagles rose over the border of crystals, and 
soared with a wide sweep far above the clouds, while the waves tossed their little caps 
of snow into the air, as if rioting in their release from a thraldom of five months' du- 
ration. 

The following morning Elizabeth was awakened by the exhilarating sounds of the 
martins, who were quarrelling and chattering around the little boxes that were sus- 
pended above her windows, and the cries of Richard, who was calling, in tones as 
animating as the signs of the season itself — 

" Awake ! awake ! my lady fair ! the gulls are hovering over the lake already, and 
the heavens are alive with the pigeons. You may look an hour before you can find a 
hole through which to get a peep at the sun. Awake ! awake ! lazy ones ! Benjamin 
is overhauling the ammunition, and we only wait for our breakfasts, and away for the 
mountains and pigeon-shooting." 

There was no resisting this animated appeal, and in a few minutes Miss Temple and 
her friend descended to the parlor. The doors of the hall were thrown open, and the 
mild, balmy air of a clear spring morning was ventilating the apartment, where the 
vigilance of the ex-steward had been so long mamtaining an artificial heat with such 
unremitted diUgence. The gentlemen were impatiently waiting for their morning's 



()() I' A (; E S A X D 1' I C T U li E .S . 

repast, e;R-h being fqiiij)! in the garb (jf a s]>ortsn)au. Mr. Joues made many vitiits to 
the southern door, and would cry — 

" See, cousin Bess ! see, 'duke, the pigeon-roosts of the south have broken up ! 
They are growmg more tliick every instant. Here is a flock that the eye cannot see 
the end of. There is food enough ui it to keej) the army of Xerxes for a month, and 
feathers enough to make beds for the whole county. Xerxes, Mr. Edwards, was a 
Grecian king, who — no, lie was a Turk, t)r a Persian, who wanted to conquer Greece, 
just the same as these rascals will overrun our wheat-fields, when they come back m 
the fall. .\way ! away ! Bess ; I long to pepper them from the momitain." 

In this wish botli Marma<luke and young Edwards seemed equally to participate, for 
the sight was most exhilarating to a sportsman ; and the ladies soon dismissed the 
party, after a hasty breakfast. 

If the heavens were alive with pigeons, the whole village seemed equally in motion, 
with men, women, and children. Every species of fire-arms, from the French ducking- 
gun, with its barrel of near six feet in length, to the common horseman's jiistol, was to be 
seen in the hands cif the men and boys; while bows and arrows, some made of the 
sinqile stick of a w.'ilnut sapling, and others in a rude imitation of the ancient cross- 
bows, were carried liy many of the latter. 

The houses and the signs of life apparent in the village, drove the alarmed birds 
from the direct line of their flight, toward the mountains, along the sides ami near the 
bases of which they were glancing in dense masses, that were equally wonderful by the 
rapidity of their motion, as by their incredible numbers. 

We have already said, that across the inclined plane which fell from the steep 
ascent of the mountains to the banks of the Susquehanna, ran the higlnvay, on either 
side of which a clearing t)f many acres had been made at a very early day. Over those 
clearings, and up the eastern mountain, and along the dangerous ])ath that was cut into 
its side, the diff"erent individuals posted themselves, as suited their inclinations; and in 
a few moments the attack commenced. 

Among the sportsmen was to be seen the tall, gaunt form of Leather-Stocking, who 
was walking over the field, with his rifle hanging on his arm, his dogs following close 
at his heels, now scenting the dead or wounded birds, that were beginning to tumble 
from the flocks, and then crouching under the legs of their master, as if they partici- 
pated in his feelings at this wasteful and unsportsmanlike execution. 

The reports of the fire-arms became rajjid, whole volleys rising from the jilain, as 
flocks of more than ordinary numbers darted over the opening, covering the field with 
darkness, like an interposing cloud; and then the light smoke of a single piece would 
issue from among the leafless bushes on the mountain, as death was hurled on the 
retreat of the aflVighted birds, who were rising from a volley, for many feet uito the 
air, in a \ain efibrt to escape tlie attacks of man. Arrows, and missiles of every kind, 
were seen in the midst of the flocks; and so numerous were the birds, and so low did 



P I G E O N - S U (J U Tl N G . (;; 

they tiiko tlieir fliglit, tliat oveu long poles, in the liands of those on the sides of tlie 
mountain, were used to strike them to the earth. 

During all this time, Mr. Jones, who disdained the humble and ordinary means of 
destruction used by his companions, Avas busily occupied, aided by Benjamin, in 
making arrangements for an assault of a more than ordinary tatal character. Among 
the relics of tlie old military excursions, that occasionally are discovered througliout the 
dift'ercnt districts of tlie western part of New York, there had been found in Tenijile- 
ton, at its settlement, a small swivel, which would carry a ball of a jinuud weight. It 
was thought to have been deserted by a war-|iarty of the whites, in one of tlieir inroads 
into the Indian settlements, when, perhaps, their convenience or their necessities in- 
duced them to leave such an incumbrance behind them in the woods. This miniature 
cannon had been released from the rust, and bemg mounted on little wheels, was now 
in a state for actual ser\ice. For several years, it was the sole organ for extraordinary 
rejoicings that was used in those mountains. On the mornings of the Fourths of July, 
it would lie heard, with its echoes ringing among the hills, and telling furth its sounds, 
for thirteen times, witli all the dignity of a two-and-thirty pounder; anil even Captain 
Ildllister, who was the highest authority in that jiart of the country on all such occa- 
sions, affirmed that, considerhig its dimensions, it was no despicable gun for a salute. 
It was somewliat the worse for the service it had jierformed, it is true, there lieing but 
a trifling diHerence in size between the touch-hole and the muzzle. Still, the grand 
conceptions of Richard had suggested the importance of such an instrument, in hurling 
death at his nimble enemies. The swi\ el «'as dragged by a horse into a part of the 
open space, that the sherilf thought most eligible for planting a battery of the kind, 
and ]\Ir. Pump jn-oceeded to load it. Several handfuls of duck-shot were ]>laced on to]) 
of the powder, and the major-domo soon announced that his piece was ready tor 
service. 

The sight of such an im|)lement collected all the idle spectators to the sjjot, who, 
being mostly boys, filled the air with tlieir cries of exultation and delight. The gun 
was pointed on high, and Kichard, holding a coal of fire in a i>air of tongs, ]iatieutly 
took his seat on a stump, awaiting the appearance of a flock that was worthy of his 
notice. 

So prodigious was the number of the birds, that the scattering fire of the guns, 
with the hurling of missiles, and the cries of the boys, had no other effect than to 
break oS' small flocks from the immense masses that continued to dart along the valley, 
as if the whole creation of the feathcre<l tribe were pouring through that one pass. 
None pretended to collect the game, which lay scattered t)ver tlie iields in such profu- 
sion as to cover the very ground with the fluttering victims. 

Leather Stocking was a silent but uneasy spectator of all these proceedings, but was 
able to keep his sentiments to himself until he saw the introduction of the swivel into" 
the spoi'ts. 



68 PAGESANDPIC TURKS. 

"This comes of settling a country!" he said — "here have I known the pigeons to 
fly for forty long )-ears, and, till you made your clearings, there was nobody to skcar or 
to hurt them. I loved to see them come into the woods, for they were company to a 
body; hurting notliing; being, as it was, as harmless as a garter-snake. But now 
it gives me sore thoughts when I hear the friglity things whizzing through the air, 
for I know it's only a motion to bring out all tlie brats in the village at tliem. Well ! 
the Lord won't see the waste of his creaters for nothing, and right will be done to 
the pigeons, as well as others, by and by. There's Mr. OHver, as bad as the rest 
of them, tiring into the flocks as if he was shooting down nothing but the Mingo Vi'uv- 
riors." 

Among the sportsmen was Billy Kirby, who, armed with an old musket, was 
loading, and witliout even looking into the air, was firing and shouting as his victims 
fell even on his own person. He heard the sjteecli of Natty, and took ujion himself to 
reply— 

"What's that, old Leather-Stocking?" he cried, " grumbUng at the loss of a few 
pigeons !" If you had to sow your wheat twice, and three times, as I have done, you 
wouldn't be so massyfully feeling'd to'ards the divils. Hurrah, boys! scatter the 
feathers. This is better than shooting at a turkey's head and neck, old fellow." 

" It's better for you, maybe, Billy Kirby," replied the indignant old hunter, " and all 
them as don't know how to put a ball down a rifle-barrel, or how to bring it up ag'in 
with a true aim ; but it's wicked to lie shooting into flocks in this wasty manner ; and 
none do it, who know how to knock over a single bird. If a body has a craving for 
pigeon's flesh, why! it's made the same as all other creater's, for man's eating, but not 
to kill twenty and eat one. When I want such a tiling, I go into the woods till I find 
one to my liking, and then I shoot him ofli" the branches without touclung a feather of 
another, though there might be a hundred on the same tree. But you couldn't do such 
a thing, Billy Kirby — you couldn't do it if you tried." 

"What's that you say, you old, dried cornstalk! you sapless stub!" cried the 
wood-cliopper. "You've grown mighty boasting, sin' you killed the turkey; but it 
you're for a single shot, here goes at that bird wiiich comes on by himself." 

The fire from the distant part of the field had driven a single pigeon below the 
flock to wliich it had belonged, and, frightened with the constant reports of the 
muskets, it was approaching the spot where the disputants stood, darting first from 
one side, and then to the other, cutting the air with the swiftness of lightning, and 
nuiking a noise with its wings, not unlike the rushing of a bullet. Unfortunately for 
the \^■ood-ehopper, notwithstanding his vaunt, he did not see his bird until it was too 
late for him to fire as it approached, and he pulled his trigger at the unlucky moment 
when it was darting immediately over his head. The bird continued its course with 
incredible velocity. 

Natty lowered the rifle from his arm, when tlie challenge was made, and, waiting a 



PIGEO>i-SH00TING. tJ9 

moment, until the terrified victim had got in .a luic witli his eyes, nnd liad dropped near 
the bank of the lake, he raised it again with uncommon rapidity, and tired. It might 
have been chance, or it might have been skill, that produced the result ; it was probably 
a union of both ; but the pigeon whirled over in the air, and fell into the lake, with a 
broken wing. At the sound of his rifle, both his dogs started from his feet, and in a 
few minutes the " slut" brought out the bird, still alive. 

The wonderful exploit of Leather-Stocking was noised through the field with great 
rapidity, and the sportsmen gathered in to learn the truth of the report. 

"What," said young Edwards, "have you really killed a pigeon on the whig, Natty, 
with a single ball ?" 

"Haven't I killed loons before now, lad, that dive at the flash?" returned the hunter. 
" It's much better to kill only such as you want, without wasting your powder and lead, 
than to be firing into God's creaters in such a wicked manner. But I come out for a 
bird, and you know the reason why I like small game, Mr. Oliver, and now I have got 
one I will go home, for I don't relish to see these wasty ways that you are all practysing, 
as if the least thing wasn't made for use, and not to destroy."' 

" Thou sayest well, Leather-Stocking," cried Marmaduke, " and I begin to think it 
time to put an end to this work of destruction." 

" Put an ind, judge, to your clearings. An't the woods his work as well as the 
pigeons ? Use, but don't waste. Wasn't the woods made for the beasts and birds to 
harbor in ? and when man wanted their flesh, their skins, or their feathers, there's the 
place to seek them. But I'll go to the hut with my own game, for I wouldn't touch 
one of the harmless things that kiver the ground here, looking up Avith their eyes on 
me, as if they only wanted tongues to say their thoughts." 

With this sentiment in his mouth, Leather-Stocking threw his rifle over his arm, 
and, followed by his dogs, stepped across the clearing with great caution, takmg care 
not to tread on one of the wounded birds that lay in his path. He soon entered the 
bushes on the margin of the lake, and was hid from view. 

Whatever impression the morality of Natty made on the judge, it was utterly lost 
on Richard. He availed himself of the gathering of the sportsmen, to lay a plan for 
one " fell swoop" of destruction. The musket-men W'ere drawn up in battle array, in a 
line extending on each side of his artillery, with orders to await the signal of firing 
from himself. 

" Stand by, my lads," said Benjamin, who acted as an aide-de-camp on this moment- 
ous occasion ; " stand by, my hearties, and when Squire Dickens heaves out the signal 
for to begin firing, d'ye see, j-ou may open upon them in a broadside. Take care and 
fire low, boys, and you'll be sure to hull the flock." 

" Fire low!" shouted Ivirby — " hear the old fool ! If we fire low, we may hit the 
stumps, but not rufile a jjigeon." 

" How should you know, you lubber ?" cried Benjamin, with a very unbecoming 



70 P A G E S A N ]i 1' I C T U U E S . 

heat for an officer on the eve of l)attle — "how should you know, vou grampus? 
Haven't I sailed ahoard of the Boadisliy fir five years? and wasn't it a standing; order 
to fire low, and to liul! your enemy? Keep silence at your fjuns, hovs, and mind the 
order that is passed." 

The loud laughs of the musket-men were silenced hv the authoritative voice of 
Richard, who called to them for attention and obedience to liis signals. 

Some millions of jiigeons were su]iposed to have already passed, that morning, over 
the valley of Tem])leton ; but nothing like the flock that was now api)roaching had 
been seen before. It extended from mountain to momitain in one soli<l blue m.ass, and 
the eye looked in vain over the southern hills to tind its termination. The front of this 
living column was distinctly marked by a line but very slightly indented, so regular 
and even was the flight. Even Marmaduke forgot the morality of Leather-Stocking as 
it approached, and, in common with the rest, brought his musket to liis shoulder. 

" Fire !" cried the sheriif, clapping his coal to the priming of the cannon. As half 
of Benjamin's charge escaped through the touch-hole, the whole volley of the musketry 
preceded the re]iort of the swivel. On receiving this united discharge of small arms, 
the front of the tiock darted npward, while, at the same instant, myriads of those in 
their rear rushed with amazing rajiidity into their places, so that when the column of 
white smoke gushed from the mouth of the little cannon, an accumulated mass of ob- 
jects was gliding over its jiohit of direction. Tiie roar of the gun echoed along the 
mountains, and died away to the north, like distant thunder, while the whole flock of 
alarmed birds seemed, for a moment, thrown into one disorderly and agitated mass. 
The air was filled with their irregular flights, layer rising over layer, far above the tops 
of the highest pines, none daring to advance beyond the dangerous pass ; when, 
suddenly, some of the leaders of the feathered tribe shot across the valley, taking their 
flight directly over the village, and tlie hundreds of thousands in their rear followed 
their exam])le, deserting the eastern side of the ]ilain to their persecutors and their 
fallen. 

"Victory!" shouted Kichard, "victory! we have driven the enemy from the field." 

" Not so, Dickon," said Marmaduke ; " the field is covered with them ; and, like 
the Leather-Stocking, I see nothing but eyes, in every direction, as the innocent suflerers 
turn their heads, in terror, to examine my movements. Full one half of those that have 
fallen are yet alive: and I think it is time to end the sport; if sport it be." 

" Sport !" cried the sheriff"; it is princely sport ! There .are some thousands of the 
blue-coated boys on the ground, so that every old woman in the village may liave a 
pot-pie for the asking." 

Well, we have Imjijiily frightened the birds from this side of the valley," said 
Marmaduke, "and our carnage must of necessity end, for the present. Boys, I will 
give you a sixjience a lnnidre<l for the jjigeons' heads onlv : so go to work, and bring 
them into the village, where I will jiav vou." 



r I G E N - S II T I X G . 71 

This L'XjiL'cUeiit pnxlui'cd the tU'siiX'd effect, for every urchin on the ground went 
industriously to work to wring the necks of the wounded birds. Judge Temple re- 
tired toward his dwelling with that kind of feeling, that many a man has experienced 
before him, who discovers, after the excitement of the moment has passed, that he has 
purchased pleasure at the price of misery to others. Horses were loaded with the 
dead ; and, after the first burst of s])orting, the shooting of ])igeons became a business, 
for the remainder of the season, more in proportion to the people. Richard, howe\er, 
boasted for many a year, of his shot with the " cricket ;" and Benjamin gravely as- 
serted, that he thought they killed nearly as many pigeons on that day, as there were 
Frenchmen destroyed on the memorable occasion of Rodney's victory. 




J-y^ 




IV. 
THE PILOT. 



The idea of writing a romance connected Avitli the sea, was accidentally sug- 
gested by a conversation at the table of Mr. Charles Wilkes. The author of 
Waverley had recently published "The Pirate," and, as usual with every fresh 
volume from his pen, the book and its characters entered largely into the table- 
talk of the hour. The admiration of the landsmen of the party was much. 
excited by the nautical passages of the narrative ; and some of the guests doubted 
whether Sir Walter Scott, the legal man, tlie poet of past centuries, could have 
drawn marine touches so correctly ; the fact was given as a reason for doubting 
his identity with the author of Waverley. No man admired the genius of Sir 
Walter Scott more than the author of " The Pioneers ;" but on this occasion he 
maintained the o^iinion that '• Tlie Pirate" was not thoroughly satisfactory to a 
nautical reader ; he added that a man accustomed to ships, and the sea, could 
have accomplished far more with the same materials as those employed in "The 
Pirate." His companions differed from him ; they considered the proportion of 
naiitical matter as a proof of the author's skill ; they held that similar scenes 
introduced very fi-eely into a work of fiction must necessarily become tedious 
from their monotony, that they could not long be made really interesting to the 
general reader ; professional men might take pleasure in them, but for a lands- 
man, occasional passages by way of brief episodes, admitted for the sake of 
novelty and variety, must always be sufficient. More than this must necessarily 
become an error of judgment iu any Avork of fictit)n. Mr. Cooper opposed this 
view of the subject with his usual spirit and aninuition. He admitted that as 
yet very little had been done in the way of naiitical fiction ; but he maintained 



THEPILOT. 73 

that a work of tliis nature, with the scene laid on the ocean, whose machinery 
should he shijjs and the waves, whose principal characters should he seamen, 
acting and talking as such, miglit he written with perfect professional accuracy, 
and yet possess equal interest with a similar hook connected with the land. Tlie 
general opinion of the company was very strongly against him. And in a con- 
versation on the same subject with his host, prolonged after they had left table, 
the same views were very clearly expressed by Mr. "Wilkes, for whose general 
taste and judgment Mr. Cooper had the highest respect. On this occasion, how- 
ever, the friends differed. Before the conversation had turned to other subjects, 
Mr. Cooper had already resolved to prove the justness of his own opinion, 
although no declaration to that effect was made. The same evening, on his way 
home from the house of Mr. AVilkes, the outline of a nautical romance was 
vaguely sketched in his own mind. 

'' I must write one more book — a sea tale — to show what can be done in this 
way by a sailor !" he exclaimed, little foreseeing that the freshly -planned story 
should be only the first of a series of similar narratives. 

It was the intention to blend history and nautical fiction in the new work^or 
to introduce at least some one striking historical character, believing that the 
reader's attention could thus be more readily attracted. No necessity for any 
such historical figure M'ould seem really to have existed ; at a later day many 
were the incidents of sea life to which the same pen gave deep interest, and in 
which the characters were all imaginary. Tlie new book, however, Avas to be a 
first attempt, a bold experiment with elements as yet untried. It was conceived 
necessary to connect M'ith the narrative some historical name which should give 
it importance, and for the same reason the struggles of the Revolution were 
chosen for the date of the tale. Tlie nautical annals of that period were brief, 
and a rapid glance was sufficient to show tliat among the historical figures of the 
time, that of the bold adventurer Paul Jones stood prominent as one of the few 
adapted to a work of fiction. His cruise in the Ranger, and his singularly 
daring descents upon Whitehaven and St. Mary's Isle, suggested the plot of 
"Tlie Pilot." 

Two ships, a frigate, and a schooner, were chosen as the nautical machinery 
of the tale. The name of the larger vessel was purposely omitted, with the idea 
of vaguely connecting her cruise, in the reader's mind, with that of some one of 
the few American men-of-war of the same date. To the schooner he gave the 
name of the Ariel, so well ada])ted to the peculiar character of an American 
craft of that size. Let us open the volume and see witli what prospect of success 
the two vessels are first brought into view : 
10 



74 PAGESANDPICTURES. 

" ' But wha ha ye gotten here ? Tliat chiel has an owV liking to the land for a 
seafaring body ; an' if the bottom o' the sea be any thing like the top o' it, he's 
in grat danger o' a shipwrack !' 

"This unexpected change in the discourse drew all eyes on the object toward 
which the staff of the observant drover was pointed. To the utter amazement 
of every individual present, a small vessel was seen moving slowly round a point 
of land that formed one of the sides of the little bay, to which the field in ^\hich 
the laborers were, composed the other. Tliere was something very peculiar in the 
externals of this nnnsnal visitor, which added in no small degree to the surprise 
created Ijy her appearance in that retii-ed place. None but the smallest vessels, 
and those i-arely, or at long intervals a desperate smuggler, were ever known to 
venture so close to the land, amid the sand-bars and sunken rocks with which 
that innnediate coast abounded. Tlie adventurous mariners who now attempted 
this dangerous navigation in so wanton, and, apparently, so heedless a man- 
ner, were in a low lilack schooner, whose hull seemed Titterly disproportioned 
to the raking masts it upheld, which, in their tuni, supported a lighter set of 
spars, that tapered away until their upper extremities appeared no larger 
than tiie lazy pennant that in vain endeavored to display its length in the light 
breeze. 

"The sliort day of that high northern latitude was already di-awing to a close, 
and the sun was throwing his parting rays obliquely across the waters, touching 
the gloomy waves here and there with streaks of pale light. The stormy winds 
of the German Ocean were ai)parently lulled to rest ; and, though the incessant 
rolling of the surge on the shore heightened the ghiomy character of the hour 
and the view, tlie light ripple that ruffled the sleeping billows was produced by a 
gentle air, that blew directly from the land. Notwithstanding this favorable 
circumstance, there was something threatening in the aspect of the ocean, which 
was speaking in hollow, but deep murmurs, like a volcano on the eve of an 
eruption, that greatly heightened the feelings of amazement and dread with which 
the peasants beheld this extraordinary interruption to the cpiiet of their little bay. 
With no other sails spread to the action of the air than her heavy mainsail, and 
one of those light jibs that projected far beyond her bows, the vessel glided over 
the water with a grace and a facility that seemed magical to the beholders, who 
turned their wondering looks from the schooner to each other in silent amaze- 
ment. At length, the drover sjioke in a low, solemn voice — 

" ' He's a bold chiel that steers her ! And if that bit craft has wood in her 
bottom, like the brigantines that ply between Lon'on and the Frith o' Leith, 
he's more in danger than a prudent man could wish. Ay! he's by the big 



THEPILOT. 75 

rock that shows his head when the tide ruus low, but it's no mortal mon who 
can steer long in the road he's journeying, and not speedily find land wi' water a 
top o't.' 

"Tlie little schooner, however, still held her way among the rocks and sand- 
pits, making such slight deviations in her course as proved her to be under the 
direction of one who knew his danger, until she had entered as far into the bay 
as prudence coidd at all justify, when her canvas was gathered into folds, 
seemingly without the agency of hands, and the vessel, after rolling for a few 
minutes on the long billows that hove in from the ocean, swung roimd in the 
currents of the tide, and was held by her anchor. 

"The peasants now began to make their conjectures more freelyconcerning the 
character and objects of theii- visitor; some intimating that she was engaged in 
contraband trade, and others that her views were hostile, and her business war. 
A few dark hints were hazarded on the materiality of her construction, for 
nothing of artificial formation, it was urged, would be venturetl by men in such 
a dangerous place, at a time when even the most inexperienced landsmen were 
enabled to foretell the certain gale. The Scotchman, who, to all the sagacity of 
his countrymen added no small portion of their superstition, leaned greatly to the 
latter conclusion, and had begun to express this sentiment warily and with 
reverence, when the child of Erin, who appeared not to possess any very definite 
ideas on the subject, interrupted him, by exclaiming — 

" ' Faith ! there's two of them ! A big and a little ! Sure the bogles o' the 
sea likes good company the same as any other Christians.' 

" ' Twa !' echoed the di'over ; ' twa ! Ill luck bides o' some o' ye. Twa craft 
a sailing without hand to guide 'em, in sic a place as this, whar eyesight is na 
giiid enough to show the dangers, bodes evil, to a' tliat luik thereon. Hoot ! 
she's na the yearling, the tither ! Luik ! mon, luik ! she's a gallant boat and a 
gr'at !' He paused, raised his pack from the ground, and first giving one 
searching look at the objects of his suspicions, he nodded with great sagacity to 
the listeners, and continued, as he moved slowly toward the interior of the 
countrv : ' I should na wonder if she carried King George's commission about her; 
weel, Aveel, I wuU journey, and ha' a crack wi' the guid mon ; for they craft have 
a suspeecious aspect, and the sma' bit thing "wu'ld nab a mon quite easy, and the 
big one wu'ld hold us a', and no feel we war' in her.' 

" This sagacious warning caused a general movement of the party, for the 
intelligence of a hot press was among the rumors of the times. The husband- - 
men collected their implements of -labor, and retired homeward; and though 
manv a curious eve was bent on the movements of the vessels, from the distant 



76 



PAGES AND PICTURES 




hills, but very few of those not immediately interested in the raystcrions visitors 
ventured to approacli the rocky cliffs that lined tlie hay. 

" The vessel that caused these caiitious movements was a gallant shiji, whose 
huge liull, lofty masts, and S(|uare yards, loomed in the evening haze, above the 
sea, like a distant mountain, rising from the deep. She carried but little sail, and 
though slie warily avoided the near approach to the land that the schooner had 
attempted, the similarity of their movements was sufficiently apparent to warrant 
tlie conjecture that tliey were employed on the same duty. Tlie frigate, for the 
ship belonged to this class of vessels, floated across the entrance of the little 
bay majestically, in the tide, with barely enough motion through the water to 
govern her movements, imtil she arrived opposite to the place where her consort 
lay, when she hove up heavily into the wind, scpiared tlie enormous yards on her 
mainmast, and attempted, in counteracting tlie power of her sails l)y each other, 
to remain stationary ; but the light air, that had at no time swelled her heavy 
canvas to the utmost, began to fail, and the long waves that rolled in from the 
ocean ceased to be ruffled with the breeze from the land. The currents and 
billows were fast sweeping the frigate toward one of the points of the estuary, 
where the black heads of the rocks could be seen running far into the sea, and, in 
their turn, tlie mariners of the ship , dropped an anchor to the bottom, and drew 
her sails in festoons to the yards. As tlie vessel swung round to the tide, a heavy 
ensign was raised to her peak, and a current of air opening for a moment its folds, 
the white field and red cross that distinguish the flag of England, were dis- 
played to view." 
j( "The Pilot" was written in ]^ew York in 1823, and published by Mr. Charles 



T H E r I L T . 77 

"Wiley, on the 29th of December of that year. Tliere could be no doubt as to its 
success. All that interest ■\vhieli the M'riter had believed it possible to throw 
around a naval narrative, was fully aroused ; the opinion declared some niontlis 
earlier at the table of Mr. AYilkes was proved to be correct. The pictures placed 
before the reader were drawn with so much spirit and poetical feeling, with so 
much clearness and fidelity, as to command attention, and fill the public mind 
for the moment. Tlie success of the book in England was also decided. Ere 
long, indeed, the tale was translated into French, and German, and Italian, in 
spite of the many technical difliculties of the subject — a most convincing proof of 
the interest of the work ; the flag of the little Ariel was can-ied triumphantly 
into the Bay of Biscay, aye, into the classic waters of the Mediterranean. 

"With the character of Paul Jones, as given in "The Pilot," Mr. Cooper, at a 
later day, was himself dissatisfied. It M-as not sufliciently true to reality. Tlie 
pilot of the frigate was represented as a man of higher views and aims, in a moral 
sense, than the facts of the life of Paul Jones would justify. Tlie commander 
of the Banger was in truth a bold and daring adventurer, a skilful seaman, a 
brave partisan, an ambitious man — but he was scarcely the enthusiast in private 
feeling, in political views, described in tlie pilot of the frigate. Tlie author wuuld 
gladly have severed entirely the slight historical link between the two, and left 
the pilot as vaguely connected with the annals of the country, as the ship he 
steered. 

With Long Tout Coffin, also, he was, in his own last j'cars, less satisfied tlian 
many of his readers. As he looked back at the character, in the maturity of long 
experience, he saw it witli a clearer view, a greater fulness of conception, a more 
complete finish of detail — ^lie considered it as a sketch only, and would gladly have 
wrought up the sketch of the old salt, a man after his own heart, to a finished 
jiicture, as he lias done with Xatty Bumppo. Of the two characters he considered 
that of Boltrope better, perhaps, as a piece of workmanship than that of the old 
Jflantucket hero. 

A few remarks on the origin of " The Pilot," given in Mr. Cooper's words, 
are inserted here : 

"It is probable a true history of human events would sliow that a far larger 
l>roportion of our acts are the results of sudden impulses and accident, than of 
tliat reason of which we so much boast. However true or false this opinion may 
be in more important matters, it is certainly and strictly correct as relates to the 
conception iind execution of this book. 

" 'Tlie Pilot' was published in 1823. Tliis was not long after the appearance 
of ' The Pirate,' a work which it is hardly necessary to remind the reader has a 



78 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

direct connection with tlie sea. In a conversation Avitli a friend, a man of 
polished taste and extensive reading, the antliorship of tlie Scottisli novels came 
under discussion. The claims of Sir Walter were a little distrnsted, on aceomit 
of the peculiar and niinnte information that the romances were then very gener- 
ally thonglit to display. ' The Pirate' was cited as a very marked instance of 
this nniversal knowledge, and it was wondered where a man of Scott's habits 
and associations could have become so familiar with the sea. The writer had 
frequently observed that there was much looseness in this universal knowledge, 
and that the secret of its success was to be traced to the power of creating that 
vraiseniblancc, Avhich is so remarkably exhibited in those world-renowned 
fictions, rather than to any very accurate information on the part of their author. 
It would liave been hypercritical to oliject to ' The Pirate' that it was not strictly 
naiitical or true in its details ; but, when the reverse Avas urged as a proof of 
what, considering the character of other portions of the work, would have been 
most extraordinary attainments, it was a sort of provocation to dispute the sea- 
manship of 'The Pirate,' a quality to which the book has certainly very little jnst 
pretension. The result of this conversation was a sudden determination to pro- 
duce a work which, if it had no other merit, might present truer jjictures of 
the ocean and ships than any that are to be found in 'The Pirate.' To this nn- 
prenieditated decision, purely an impulse, is not only 'The Pilot' due, but a 
tolerably numerous school of nautical romances that have succeeded it. 

" The author had many misgivings concerning the success of the undertaking, 
after he had made some progress in the Avork ; the opinions of his diiierent 
friends being any thing but encouraging. One would declare that the sea could 
not be made interesting ; that it was tame, monotonous, and without any other 
movement than mipleasant storms, and that, for his part, the less he got of it the 
better. The women very generally protested that such a book would have the 
odor of bilge-water, and that it would give them the maladie de mer. Not a 
single individual anidiig all those who discussed the merits of the project, within 
the range of the autlior's knowledge, either spoke or looked encouragingly. It is 
probable that all these persons anticipated a signal faihire. 

" So very discouraging did these ominous opinions get to be, that the writer 
%as, once or twice, tempted to throw his manuscript aside, and turn to something 
new. A favorable opinion, however, coming from a very unexpected quarter, 
put a new face on the matter, and raised new hopes. Among the intimate friends 
of the writer, was" an Englishman, who possessed most of the peculiar qualities of 
the educated of his country. He was learned even, had a taste that was so just 
as always to command respect, but was prejudiced, and particularly so in all that 



THE PILOT. ■j-g 

related to this country and its literature. Pie could never be persuaded to admire 
Bryant's 'Water-Fowl,' and this mainly because if it were accepted as wood 
poetry, it must be placed at once amongst the finest fugitive pieces of the lan- 
gufge. Of the 'Tlia..atopsis' he thought better, though inclined to suspect it of 
being a plagiarism. To the tender mercies of this one-sided critic, who had never 
afleeted to compliment the previous works of the aiithor, the sheets of a volume 
of 'Tlie Pilot' were committed, with scarce an expectation of his liking them. 
Tlie reverse proved to be the case — he expressed himself highly gratified, and pre- 
dicted a success for the book which it probably never attained. 

" Thus encouraged, one more experiment was made, a seaman being selected 
for the critic. A kinsman, a namesake, and an old messmate of the author, one 
now in command on a foreign station, was chosen, and a considerable portion of 
the first volume was read to him. There is no wish to conceal the satisfaction with 
which the eftect on this listener was observed. He treated the whole matter as 
fact, and his criticisms were strictly professional and perfectly j ust. But the in- 
terest he betrayed coidd not be mistaken. It gave a perfect and most gratifying 
assurance that the work woidd be more likely to find favor with nautical men, 
than with any other class of readers." 

In the pages chosen for illustration of "The Pilot," the reader will find 
brought together two very different chapters from the same pen. In the first is 
given the historical record of tlie celebrated battle of the Bon Homme Richard, 
one of the most remarkable in the brief annals of American naval warfare, and 
written with all the conscientious accuracy of detail which was in the power of 
the historian to give it. The second passage is drawn from one of the openinij: 
chapters of "The Pilot," the first of many storm scenes sketched by the same 
hand. The reader may be interested in comparing the two — history and fiction 
flowing in parallel, yet thoroughly distinct currents, from the same pen. 





BATTLE OF THE BON HOMME KICHARD. 



The pilot-boat had liardly left the Bon Homme Richard when the leading ships of 
a deet of more than forty sail were seen stretching out from behind Flamborough 
Head, on a bowline, evidently with the intention of turning down toward the Siraits 
of Dover. From previous intelligence this fleet was immediately known to contain 
the Baltic ships, under the convoy of the Serapis, forty-four. Captain Kiehard Pearson, 
and a hired ship that had been put into the king's service, called the Countess of Scar- 
borough. The latter was commanded by Captain Piercy, and mounted twenty-two 
guns. As the interest of the succeeding details will chiefly centre in the Serapis and 
the Richard, we shall give a more minute account of the actual force of the former. 

At the period of which we are now writing, forty-fours were usually built on two 
decks. Such, then, was the construction of this ship, which was new, and had the 
reputation of being a fast vessel. On her lower gun-deck she mounted twenty 
eighteen-pound guns ; on her upper gun-deck, twenty nine-pound guns ; and on her 
quarter-deck and forecastle, ton six-pound guns ; making an armament of fifty guns in 
the whole. She had a regularly trained man-of-war's crew of three hundred and 
twenty souls, fifteen of whom, however, were said to have been Lascars. 

When the squadron made this convoy, the men-of-war were inshore astern and to 
leeward, probably with a view to keep the merchantmen together. The bailifis of Scar- 
borough, perceiving the danger into which this little fleet was running, had sent a boat 
ofi" to the Serapis to apprise her of the presence of a hostile force, and Captain Pear- 
son fired two guns, signaling the leading vessels to come under his lee. These orders 
were disregarded, however, the headmost ships standing out until they were about a 
league from the land. 



BATTLE OF THE BON HOMME RICHARD. gl 

Commodore Jones having ascertained the character of the fleet in sight, showed a 
signal for a general chase, another to recall the lieutenant in the pilot-l>oat, and crossed 
royal yards on board the Richard. These signs of hostility alarmed the nearest 
English ships, which hurriedly tacked together, fired alarm guns, let fly their top-gal- 
lant sheets, and made other signals of the danger they were in, while they now 
gladly availed themselves of the presence of the ships-of-war, to run to leeward, or 
sought shelter closer in with the land. The Serapis, on the contrary, signaled the 
Scarborough to follow, and hauled boldly out to sea, until she had got far enough to 
windward, when she tacked and stood inshore again, to cover her convoy. 

The Alliance being much the fastest vessel of the American squadron, took the 
lead in the chase, speaking the Pallas as she passed. It has been proved that Captain 
Landais told the commander of the latter vessel on this occasion, that if the stranger 
proved to be a fifty, they had nothuig to do but to endeavor to escape. His subsequent 
conduct fully confirmed this opinion, for no sooner had he run down near enough to 
the two English vessels-of-war to ascertain their force, than he hauled up and stood off 
from the land again. All this was not only contrary to the regular order of battle, but 
contrary to the positive command of Commodore Jones, who had kept the signal to 
form a line abroad, which should have brought the Alliance astern of the Richard, and 
the Pallas m the van. Just at this time the Pallas spoke the Richard, and inquired 
what station she should take, and was also directed to form the line. But the extraor- 
dinary movements of Captain Landais a2)pear to have produced some indecision ui 
the commander of the Pallas, as he too, soon after tacked, and stood off from the land. 
Captaui Cottineau, however, was a brave man, and subsequently did his duty hi the 
action, and this manoeuvre has been explained by the Richard's hauHng uj) suddenly 
for the land, which induced bun to think that her crew had mutinied and were rimning 
away with tlie ship. Such was the want of confidence that prevailed in a force so 
singularly composed, and such were the disadvantages under which tliis celebrated 
combat was fought ! 

So far, however, from meditating retreat or mutiny, the people of the Bon Homme 
Richard had gone cheerfully to their quarters, although every man on board was con- 
scious of the superiority of the force with which they were about to contend ; and 
the high, unconquerable spu-it of the commander appears to have comniunicated itself 
to the crew. 

It was now getting to be dark, and Commodore Jones was compelled to follow the 
movements of the enemy by the aid of a night-glass. It is probable that the obscurity 
which prevailed added to the indecision of the commander of the Pallas, for from this 
time until the moon rose, objects at a distance were distinguished with difliculty, and 
even after the moon appeared, with uncertainty. The Richard, however, stood steadily 
on, and about lialf-past seven, she came up vriih the Serapis, the Scarborough being a 
short distance to leeward. The American ship was to ^vindward, and as she drew 
11 



g2 PAGKSANDPICTURES. 

slowly near, Captain Pearson hailed. The answer was equivocal, and both ships 
delivered their entire broadsides nearly simultaneously. The water being so smooth. 
Commodore Jones had relied materially on the eighteens that were in the gun-room ; 
but at this discharge two of the six that were fired bursted, blowing up the deck 
above, and killing or wounding a large proportion of the people that were stationed 
below. This disaster caused all the heavy guns to be instantly deserted, for the men 
had no longer sufficient confidence in their goodness to use them. It, at once, reduced 
the broadside of the Richard to about a third less than that of her opponent, not to 
include the disadvantage of the manner in which the metal tliat remained was dis- 
tributed among light guns. In short, the combat was now between a twelve-pounder 
and an eighteen-pounder frigate ; a species of contest ia which, it has been said, we 
know not with what truth, the former has never been known to prevail. Commodore 
Jones informs us himself, that all his hopes, after this accident, rested on the twelve- 
pounders that were under the command of his first lieutenant. 

The Richard, having backed her topsails, exchanged several broadsides, when she 
filled again, and shot ahead of the Serapis, which ship luffed across her stern and came 
up on the weather quarter of her antagonist, taking the wind out of her sails, and, in 
her turn, passing ahead. All this time, which consumed half an hour, the cannonading 
was close and furious. The Scarborough now drew near, but it is uncertain whether 
she fired or not. On the side of the Americans it is aflinned that she raked the 
Richard at least once ; but, by the report of her own commander, it would appear 
that, on account of the obscurity and the smoke, he was afraid to discharge his gims, 
not knowing which ship might be the friend, or which the foe. Unwilling to lie by, 
and to be exposed to shot uselessly. Captain Piercy edged away from the combatants, 
exchanged a broadside or two, at a great distance, Avith the Alliance, and shortly 
afterward was engaged at close quarters by the Pallas, which ship compelled hun to 
strike, after a creditable resistance of about an hour. 

Having disposed of the inferior ships, we can confine ourselves to the principal 
combatants. As the Serapis kept her lufi", saiUng and working better than the Richard, 
it was the intention of Captain Pearson to pay broad ofi" across the latter's forefoot, as 
soon as he had got far enough ahead ; but making the attempt, and finding he had not 
room, he put his helm hard down to keep clear of his adversary, when the double 
movement brought the two ships nearly in a line, the Serapis leading. By these un- 
certain evolutions, the English ship lost some of her way, while the American, having 
kept her sails trimmed, not only closed, but actually ran aboard of her antagonist, bows 
on, a little on her weather quarter. The wind being light, much time was consumed 
in these difierent manoeuvres, and near an hour had elapsed between the firing of the 
first guns, and the moment when the vessels got foul of each other in the manner just 
described. 

The English now thought that it was the intention of the Americans to board them, 



BATTLE OF THE BON HOMME RICHARD. 83 

aud a few minutes passed in the uncertainty which such an expectation would create ; 
but the positions of the vessels were not favorable for either party to pass into the 
opposing ship. There being at this moment a perfect cessation of the firing, Captain 
Pearson demanded, " Have you struck your colors ?" " I have not yet be"-un to 
fight," was the answer. 

The yards of the Richard were braced aback, and, the sails of the Serapis being 
full, the ships separated. As soon as far enough asunder, the Serapis put her hehn hard 
down, laid all aback forward, shivered her after-saUs, and wore short round on her 
heel, or was box-hauled, with a view, most probably, of luffing up athwart the bow of 
her enemy, in order to again rake her. In this position the Richard would have been 
fighting her starboard, and the Serapis her larboard guns ; but Commodore Jones, by 
this time, was conscious of the hopelessness of success against so much heavier metal, 
and after having backed astern some distance, he filled on the other tack, luffing up with 
the intention of meeting the enemy as she came to the wind, and of laying her athwart 
hause. In the smoke, one party or the other miscalculated the distance, for the two 
vessels came foul again, the bowsprit of the English ship passing over the jjoop of the 
American. As neither had much way, the collision did but little injury, and Com- 
modore Jones, with his own hands, immediately lashed the enemy's head-gear to his 
mizzen-mast. The pressure on the after sails of the Serapis, which vessel was nearly 
before the wind at the time, brought her hull round, and the two ships gradually fell 
close alongside of each other, head and stern, the jib-boom of the Serapis giving way 
with the strain. A spare anchor of the English ship now hooked in the quarter of the 
American, and additional lashings were got out on board the latter to secure her in 
this position. 

Captain Pearson, who was as much aware of his advantage in a regular combat as 
his opponent could be of his own disadvantage, no sooner perceived the vessels foul 
than he dropped an anchor, in the hope that the Richard would drift clear of him. 
But such an expectation was perfectly futile, as the yards were interlocked, the hulls 
were pressed close against each other, there were lashings fore and aft, and even the 
ornamental work aided in holding the ships together. When the cable of the Serapis 
took the strain, the vessels slowly tended, with the bows of the Serapis and the stern 
of the Richard to the tide. At this instant the English made an attempt to board, but 
were repulsed without loss. 

All this time the battle raged. The lower ports of the Serapis having been closed, 
as the vessel swung, to prevent boarding, they were now blown off, in order to allow 
the guns to be rmi out ; and cases actually occurred ui which the rammers had to be 
thrust mto the ports of the opposite ship in order to be entered into the muzzles of 
their proper guns. It is evident that such a conflict must have been of short duration. 
In effect, the heavy metal of the Serapis, m one or two discharges, cleared all before 
it, and the mam-deck guns of the Richard were in a great measure abandoned. Most 



34 PAGESANDPICTURES. 

of the people weut ou the upper-deck, aud a great number collected on the forecastle, 
where they were safe from the fire of the enemy, continuing to fight by throwing 
grenades and using muskets. 

In this stage of the combat the Serapis was tearing her antagonist to pieces below, 
almost Avithout resistance from her enemy's batteries, only two guns on the quarter- 
deck, aud throe or four of the twelves, being worked at all. To the former, by shifting a 
gun from the larboard side, Conunodorc Jones succeeded in adding a third, all of 
which were used with efiect, under his immediate inspection, to the close of the action. 
He could uot muster force enough to get over a second gun. But the combat would 
now have soon terminated, had it not been for the courage and activity of the people 
aloft. Strong parties had been placed in the tops, and, at the end of a short contest, 
the Americans had driven every man belonging to the enemy below ; after which they 
kept up so animated a fire, on the quarter-deck of the Serapis in particular, as to drive 
nearly every man oif it that was not shot down. 

Thus, while the English had the battle nearly all to themselves below, their enemies 
had the control above the upper deck. Having cleared the tops of the Serapis, some 
American seamen lay out on the Richard's nuiinyard, and began to throw hand- 
grenades upon the two upper decks of the English ship ; the men on the forecastle of 
their own vessel seconding these efforts, l)y casting the same combustibles through the 
ports of the Serapis. At length one man, in particular, became so hardy as to take 
his post on the extreme end of the yard, whence, provided with a bucket fiUed with 
combustibles, and a match, he dropped the grenades with so much precision that one 
passed through the main-hatchway. The powder-boys of the Serapis had got more 
cartridges up than were wanted, and, in their hurry, they had carelessly laid a row of 
them on the main-deck, in a line with the guns. The grenade just mentioned set fire 
to some loose powder that was lying near, and the flash passed from cartridge to 
cartridge, beginning abreast of the mainmast and running quite aft. 

The effect of this explosion was awful. More than twenty men were instantly 
killed, many of them being left with nothing on them but the collars and wristbands 
of their shirts, and the waistbands of their duck trowsers ; while the official returns 
of the ship, a week after the action, show that there were no less than thirty-eight 
wounded on board, still alive, who had been injured in this manner, and of whom 
thirty were said to have been then in great danger. Captain Pearson described this 
explosion as having destroyed nearly all the men at the five or six aftermost guns. On 
the whole, near sixty of the Serapis's people must have been instantly disabled by this 
sudden blow. 

The advantage thus obtained, by the coolness and intrepidity of the topmen, in a 
great measure restored the chances of the combat, and, by lessening the fire of the 
enemy, enabled Commodore Jones to increase his. In the same degree that it encour- 
aged the crew of the Richard, it diminished the hopes of the people of the Serapis. 



BATTLE OFTUEBON HOMME RICHARD. 85 

One of the gima under the immediate inspection of Commodore Jones had been 
pointed some time against the mainmast of his enemy, while the two others had 
seconded the fire of the tops, with grape and canister. Kept below decks by this double 
attack where a scene of frightful horror was present in the agonies of the womided, 
and the effects of the explosion, the spirits of the English began to droop, and there 
was a moment when a trifle would have induced them to submit. From this despond- 
ency they were temporarily raised by one of those unlooked-for events that ever 
accompany the vicissitudes of a battle. 

After exchanging the inefiective and distant broadsides already mentioned with 
the Scarborough, the Alliance had kept standing oft' and on, to leeward of the two 
principal ships, out of the direction of their shot, when, about half-past eight, she ap- 
peared crossing the stern of the Serapis and the bow of the Richard, firing at such 
distance as to render it impossible to say which vessel would suffer the most. As soon 
as she had drawn out of the range of her own guns, her hehn was put up, and she ran 
down near a mile to leeward, hovering about, until the firing had ceased between the 
Pallas and Scarborough, when she came within hail and spoke both nf these vessels. 
Captain Cottineau of the Pallas earnestly entreated Captain Landais to take possession 
of his prize, and allow him to go to the asslst.ance of the Richard, or to stretch ui> to 
the windward in the Alliance himself, and succor the commodore. 

After some delay, Captain Landais took the important duty of assisting his consort, 
into his own hands, and making two long stretches, under his topsails, he appeared, 
about the time at which we have arrived in the narration of the combat, directly to 
windward of the two ships, with the head of the Alliance to the westward. Here 
the latter ship once more opened her fire, doing equal damage at least, to friend and 
foe. Keepmg away a little, and still continuing her fire, the Alliance was soon on the 
larboard quarter of the Richard, and, it is even aftirmed, that her guns were discharged 
until she had got nearly abeam. 

Fifty voices now hailed to tell the people of the ADiance that they were firing into 
the wrong ship, and three lanterns were shown, in a Ime, on the ofl'side of the Richard, 
which was the regular signal of recognition for a night action. An officer was directed 
to hail, and to order Captain Landais to lay the enemy aboard, and the question being 
put, whether the order was comprehended, the answer was in the .affirmative. 

As the moon had been up some time, it was impossible not to distinguish between 
the vessels, the Richard being all black, while the Serapis had yellow sides, and the 
impression seems to have been general in the former vessel, that they had been attacked 
intentionally. At the discharge of the first guns of the Alliance, the people left one or 
two of the twelves on board the Richard, which they had begun to fight again, s.aymg 
that the Englishmen in the Alliance had got possession of the ship, and were helping 
•the enemy. It appears that this discharge dismounted a gun or two, extinguished 
several lanterns on the main deck, and did a good deal of damage aloft. 



8g PAGESANDPICTURES. 

The Alliance hauled off to some distance, keeping always on the off side of the 
Richard, and soon after she reappeared edgiag down on the larboard beam of her con- 
sort, hauling up athwart the bows of that ship and the stern of her antagonist. On this 
occasion, it is affirmed that her fire recommenced, when, by possibility, the shot could 
only reach the Serapis through the Richard. Ten or twelve men appear to have been 
killed and wounded on the forecastle of the latter ship, which was crowded at the time, 
and among them was an officer of the name of Caswell, who, with his dying breath, 
maintained that he had received his wound by the fire of the friendly vessel. 

After crossing the bows of the Richard, and the stern of the Serapis, delivering 
grape as she passed, the Alliance ran off to leeward, again standing off and on, doing 
nothing, for the remainder of the combat. 

The fire of the Alliance added greatly to the leaks of the Richard, which ship by 
this time had receixeil so mucli water tJirongh the shot-holes, as to begin to settle. It 
is even affirmed by many witnesses, that the most dangerous shot-holes on board the 
Richard were under her larboard bow, and larboard counter, in places where tliey 
could not have been received from the fire of the Serapis. This evidence, however, is 
not unanswerable, as it has been seen that the Serapis luffed upon the larboard-quarter of 
the Richard in the commencement of the action, and, forging ahead, was subsequently 
on her larboard-bow, endeavoring to cross her fore foot. It is certainly possible that 
shot may have struck the Richard in the places mentioned, on these occasions, and 
that, as the ship settled in the water from other leaks, the lK)les then made may have 
suddenly increased the danger. On the other hand, if the Alliance did actually fire 
while on her bow and quarter of the Richard, as appears by a mass of uncontradicted 
testimony, the dangerous shot-holes may very well have come from that ship. 

Let the injuries have been received from what quarter they might, soon after the 
Alliance had run to leeward, an alarm was spread in the Richard that the ship was 
sinking. Both vessels had been on fire several times, and some difficulty had been ex- 
perienced in extinguishing the flames, but here was a new enemy to contend with, and 
as the information came from the carpenter, whose duty it was to sound the pump- 
wells, it produced a good deal of consternation. The Richard had more than a hun- 
dred English jirisoners on board, and the master-at-arms, in the hurry of the moment, 
let them all u}) from below, in order to save their lives. In the confusion of such a scene 
at night, the master of a letter-of-marque, that had been taken off the north of Scot- 
land, passed through a port of the Richard into one of the Serapis, when he reported 
to Captain Pearson that a few minutes would probably decide the battle in his favor, 
or carry his enemy down, he himself having been liberated in order to save his life. 
Just at this instant the gunner, who had little to occupy him at his quarters, came on 
deck, and not perceiving Commodore Jones or Mr. Dale, both of whom were occupied 
with the hberated prisoners, and believing the master, the only other superior he had 
in the ship, to be dead, he ran uj) on the poop to haul down the colors. Fortun.ately 



B A T T L E U F T H E B X H O M M E R 1 C H A R D . 87 

the flag-stafi" had been shot away, and, the ensign already hanging in the water, he 
had no other means of letting his intention to submit be known, than by calling 
out for quarter. Captam Pearson now hailed to inquire if the Richard demanded 
quarter, and was answered by Commodore Jones himself in the negative. It is prol>- 
able that the reply was not heard, or, if heard, supposed to come from an unauthor- 
ized source, for, encouraged by what he had learned from the escaped prisoner, by the 
cry, and by the confusion that prevailed in the Richard, the English captain directed 
his boarders to be called away, and, as soon as mustered, they were ordered to take 
possession of the prize. Some of the men actually got on the gunwale of the latter 
ship, but finding boarders ready to repel boarders, they made a precipitate retreat. 
All this time the topmen were not idle, and the enemy were soon driven below again 
with loss. 

In the meanwhile Mr. Dale, who no longer had a gun that could be fought, mus- 
tered the prisoners at the pumps, turning their consternation to account, and probably 
keeping the Richard afloat by the very blunder that had come so near losing her. The 
ships were now on fire again, and both parties, with the exception of a few gims on 
each side, ceased fighting, in order to subdue this dangerous enemy. In the course of 
the combat the Serapis is said to have been set on fire no less than twelve times, while 
toward its close, as will be seen in the sequel, the Richard was burning all the while. 

As soon as order was restored in the Richard, after the call for quarter, her chances 
of success began to increase, while the EngUsh, driven under cover, almost to a man, 
appear to have lost, in a great degree, the hope of victory. Their fire materially slack- 
ened, while the Richard again brought a few more guns to bear ; the mainmast of the 
Serapis began to totter, and her resistance, in general, to lessen. About an hour 
after the explosion, or between three hours and three hours and a half after 
the first gun was fired, and between two hours and two hours and a half after the 
ships were lashed together. Captain Pearson hauled down the colors of the Serapis 
■with his own hands, the men refusing to expose themselves to the fire of the Rich- 
ard's tops. 

As soon as it was kno\TTi that the colors of the English had been lowered, Mr. Dale 
got upon the gimwale of the Richard, and laying hold of the main-brace pendant, 
he swung himself on board the Serapis. On the quarter-deck of the latter he found 
Captain Pearson, almost alone, that gallant oflicer ha\ing mamtaiTiod his post through- 
out the whole of this close and murderous conflict. Just as Mr. Dale addressed the 
English captain, the first-lieutenant of the Serapis came up from below to inquire if the 
Richard had struck, her fire having entirely ceased. Mr. Dale now gave the EngUsh 
oflicer to understand that he was mistaken in the position of thmgs, the Serapis having 
struck to the Richard, and not the Richard to the Serapis. Captain Pearson confirm- 
ing this account, his subordinate acquiesced, oflfering to go below and silence the gims 
that were still playing upon the American ship. To this Mr. Dale would not consent^ 



88 PAGESANDPICTURES. 

but botli the English officers were immediately passed on board the Richard. The 
firing was then stopped below. Mr. Dale had been closely followed to the quarter- 
deck of the Serapis by INIr. Mayrant, a midshipman, and a party of boarders, and as 
the former struck the quarter-deck of the prize, he w.as run through the thigh, by a 
boarding-pike, in the hands of a man in the waist, who was ignorant of the surrender. 
Thus did the close of this remarkable combat resemble its other features iii suigularity, 
blood being shed and shot fired, while the boarding officer was in amicable discourse 
with his prisoners ! 

As soon as Captain Pearson was on board the Richard, and Mr. Dale had received 
a proper number of hands in the prize. Commodore Jones ordered the lashings to be 
cut, and the vessels to be separated, hailing the Serapis, as the Richard drifted from 
alongside of her, and ordering her to follow his own shij>. Mr. Dale now had the 
head sails of the Serapis braced sharp aback, and the wheel put down, but the vessel 
refused both her helm and her canvas. Surprised and excited at this circumstance, the 
gallant lieutenant sjirang from the binnacle on M'hich he had seateil himself, and fell at 
his length on the deck. He had been severely wounded in the leg, by a sphnter, and 
until this moment had been ignorant of the injury. He was replaced on the binnacle, 
when the master of the Serapis came up and acquainted him with the fact that the sliip 
was anchored. 

By this time, Mr. Lunt, the second lieutenant, who had been absent in the pilot- 
boat, had got alongside, and was on board the prize. To this officer Mr. Dale now 
consigned the charge of the Serapis, the cable was cut, and the ship followed the 
Richard, as ordered. 

Although this protracted and bloody combat had now ended, neither the danger 
nor the labors of the victors were over. The Richard was both smking and on fire. 
The flames had got within the ceiling, and extended so far that they menaced the 
magazine, while all the pumps, in constant use, could barely keep the water at the same 
level. Had it depended on the exhausted people of the two combatants, the ship must 
have soon sunk, but the other vessels of the squadron sent hands on board the 
Richard, to assist at the pumps. So imminent did the danger from the fire become, 
that all the powder was got on deck, to prevent an explosion. In tliis manner did 
the night of the battle pass, with one gang always at the jmnips, and another contend- 
ing with the flames, until about ten o'clock in the forenoon of the 24th, when the latter 
were got under. After the action, eight or ten Englishmen in the Richard stole a boat 
from the Serapis, and ran away with it, landing at Scarborough. Several of the men 
were so alarmed with the condition of their ship, as to jump overboard and swim to 
the other vessels. 

When the day dawned, an examination was made into the condition of the Richard. 
Abaft, on a fine with the guns of the Serapis that had not been disabled by the ex ■ 
plosion, tlie timbers were found to be nearly all beaten in, or beaten out, for in this 



T 11 E F R I U A T E 1 X A S T R M . 89 

respect tliere was little diiferenee between the two sides of the ship ; and it was said 
that her poop and upper decks would have fallen into the gun-room, but for a few fut- 
tocks that had been missed. Indeed, so large was the vacuum, that most of the shot 
fired from this part of the Seraj)is, at the close of the action, must have gone through 
the Richard without touching any thing. The rudder was cut from the stern-post, and 
the transoms were nearly <lriven out of her. All the after-part of the ship, in particular, 
that was below the quarter-deck, was torn to pieces, and nothing had saved those 
stationed on the qiuirter-deck but the impossibility of elevating gims that almost 
touched their object. 

The result of this examination was to convince every one of the impossibility of 
carrying the Richard into port, in the event of its coming on to blow. Commodore 
Jones was advised to remove his wounded while the weather continued moderate, and 
he reluctantly gave the order to commence. The following night and the morning of 
the succeeding day were employed in executing this imperious duty, and about nine 
o'clock, the officer of the Pallas, who was in charge of the ship, with a party at the 
pumps, finding that the water had reached the lower deck, reluctantly abandoned her. 
About ten, the Bon Homme Richard wallowed heavily, gave a roll, and settled slowly 
into the sea, bows foremost. 







\l 



^SiN 



\ 






THE FRIGATE IN A STORM. 

The extraordinary activity of Griffith, which communicated itself with promptitude 
to the crew, was produced by a sudden alteration in the weather. Li place of the well- 
defined streak along the horizon, that has been already described, an immense body 
of misty hght appeared to be moving in with rapidity from the ocean, while a distinct 
12 



yij P A G E S A N U F 1 T U R E S . 

but distant roaring announcL'd (ho sure approach of the tempest, that had so long 
troubled the waters. Even Griffith, while thundering his orders through the trumpet, 
and urging the men, by his cries, to expedition, would pause, for instants, to cast 
anxious glances in the direction of the coming storm ; and the faces of the sailors who 
lay on the yards were turned, mstinctively, toward the same quarter of the heavens, 
while they knotted the reef-]ioints, or passed the gaskets, that were to confine the un- 
ruly canvas to the prescrilied limits. 

The pilot alone, in that confused and busy throng, where voice rose above voice, 
and cry echoed cry, in quick succession, ajipeared as if he held no interest in the im- 
portant stake. With his eyes steadily fixed on the approaching mist, and his arms 
folded together in composure, he stood calmly waiting the result. 

The ship had fallen olF, with her broadside to the sea, and was become unmanage- 
able, and the sails were already brought into the folds necessary to her security, when 
the quick and heavy fluttering of canvas was thrown across the water, with all the 
gloomy and chilling sensations that such sounds produce, where darkness and danger 
unite to a])i)al the seaman. 

" The schooner has it !" cried Griffith ; " Barnstable has held on, like liimself, to 
the last moment — God send that the squall leave him cloth enough to keep him from 
the shore !" 

" His sails are easily handled," the commander observed, " and she must be over 
the principal danger. We are falling oif before it, Mr. Gray ; shall we try a cast of 
the lead ?" 

The pilot turned from his contemplative posture, and moved slowly across the deck 
before he returned any reply to this question — like a man who not only felt that every 
thing depended on himself, but that he was equal to the emergency. 

" 'Tis unnecessary," he at length said ; " 'twould be certain destruction to be taken 
aback, and it is difficult to say, within several points, how the wind may strike us." 

" 'Tis difficult no longer," cried Griffith ; " for here it comes, and in right earnest !" 

The rushing sounds of the wind were now, indeed, heard at hand, and the words 
were hardly past the lips of the young lieutenant, before the vessel bowed down 
heavily to one side, and then, as she began to move through the water, rose again ma- 
jestically to her upright position, as if saluting, like a courteous champion, the powerful 
antagonist with which she was about to contend. Not another minute elapsed, before 
the ship was throwing the waters aside, with a lively progress, and, obedient to her 
helm, was brought as near to the desired course as the direction of the wind would 
allow. The hurry and bustle on the yards gradually subsided, and the men slowly 
descended to the deck, all straining their eyes to pierce the gloom in which they were 
enveloped, and some shaking their heads in melancholy doubt, afraid to express the 
apprehensions they really entertained. All on board anxioiisly awaited for the fury of 
the gale ; for there were none so ignorant or inexperienced in that gallant frigate, as 



THE 1-' li I G A T E IN A ST O R .M . 91 

not to know, that as yet, they only feU the infant efforts of the wind. Each moment, 
liowever, it increased in power, though so gradual was the alteration, that the relieved 
mariners began to believe that all their gloomy forebodings were not to be realized. 
During this short interval of uncertainty, no other sounds were heard than the whistling 
of the breeze, as it passed quickly througli the mass of rigging that belonged to the 
vessel, and the dashing of the spray, that began to fly from her bows, like the foam of 
a cataract. 

" It blows fresh," cried Griffith, who was the first to speak in that moment of 
doubt and anxiety ; " but it is no more than a capful of wind, after all. Give us 
elbow-room, and the right canvas, Mr. Pilot, and I'll handle the ship like a gentlemen's 
yacht, in this breeze." 

"Will she stay, think ye, under this sail?" said the low voice of the stranger. 

"She will do all that man, in reason, can ask of wood and iron," returned the lieu- 
tenant ; "but the vessel don't float the ocean that will tack under double-reefed to])sails 
alone against a heavy sea. Help her with the courses, pUot, and you shall see her come 
round like a dancing-master." 

"Let us feel the strength of the gale first," returned the man who was called Mr. 
Gray, moving from the side of Griffith to the weather gangway of the vessel, where he 
stood in silence, lookhig ahead of the ship, with an air of singular coolness and ab- 
straction. 

All the lanterns had been extinguished on the deck of the frigate, when her 
anchor was secured, and as the first mist of the gale had passed over, it was succeeded 
by a faint light that was a good deal aided by the glittering foam of the waters, which 
now broke in white curls around the vessel in every direction. The land could be 
faintly discerned, rising like a heavy bank of black fog, above the margin of the 
waters, and was only distinguishable from the heavens by its deeper gloom and ob- 
scurity. The last rope was coiled, and deposited in its proper place, by the seamen, and 
for several minutes the stillness of death pervaded the crowded decks. It was evident 
to every one that their ship was dashing at a prodigious rate through the waves ; and 
as she was approaching, with such velocity, the quarter of the hay where the shoals 
and dangers were known to be situated, nothing but the habits of the most exact 
discipline could supjsress the uneasiness of the officers and men within their own 
bosoms. At length the voice of Captain Munson was heard, calling to the pilot. 

" Shall I send a hand into the chains, Mr. Gray," he s.aid, " and try our water ?" 

Although this question was asked aloud, and the interest it excited drew many of 
the officers and men around him, in eager impatience for his answer, it was unheeded 
by the man to whom it was addressed. His head rested on his hand, as he leaned 
over the hammock-cloths of the vessel, and his whole air was that of one whose 
thoughts wandered from the pressing necessity of their situation. Griffith was among 
those who h.ad approached the pilot, and after waiting a moment, from respect, to hear 



92 P A a E S A x\ i) P 1 C T U R E S . 

the answer to his commander's question, }ic ])resumed on his own rank, and leaving 
the circle that stood at a little distance, stepped to the side of the mysterious guardian 
of their lives. 

" Captain Munson desires to know whether you wish a cast of the lead ?" said the 
young officer, with a little impatience of manner. No immediate answer was made to 
this repetition of the question, and Griffith laid his hand unceremoniously on the 
shoulder of the other, with an intent to rouse him, before he made another application 
for a reply, but the convulsive start of the pilot held liim silent in amazement. 

" Fall back there," said the lieutenant, sternly, to the men, who were closing around 
them in a compact circle ; " away with you to your stations, ami see all clear for stays." 
The dense mass of heads dissolved, at this order, like the water of one of the waves 
commingling with the ocean, .and the lieutenant and his companion were left by them- 
selves. 

" This is not a time for musing, Mr. Gray," continued Griffitli — " remember our 
compact, and look to your charge — is it not time to put the v'essel in stays ? — of what 
are you dreaming ?" 

The pilot laid his hand on the extended arm of the heutenant, and grasjjed it with 
a convulsive pressure, as he answered — 

" 'Tis a dream of reality. You are young, Mr. Griffith, nor am I jiast the noon 
of life ; but should you live fifty years longer, you never can see and experience what 
I have encountered in my little period of three-and-thirty years !" 

A good deal astonished at this burst of feeling, so singular at such a moment, the 
young sailor was at a loss for a reply ; but as his duty was uppermost in his thoughts, 
he still dwelt on the theme that most interested huu. 

" I hope much of your experience has been on this coast, for the ship travels lively," 
he said, " and the daylight showed us so much to dread that we do not feel over- 
vaUant in the dark. How much longer shall we stand on upon this tack ?" 

The pilot turned slowly from the side of the vessel, and walked toward the com- 
mander of the frigate, as lie replied, in a tone that seemed deeply agitated by his 
melancholy reflections — 

" You have your wish, then ; much, very much, of my early life was passed on this 
dreaded coast. What to you is all darkness and gloom, to me is as light as if a noon- 
day sun shone upon it. But tack your ship, sir ; tack your ship ; I would see how she 
works before we reach the j)oint where she must behave well, or we perish." 

Griffith gazed after him in wonder, while the pilot slowly paced the quarter-deck, 
and then, rousing from his trance, gave forth the cheering order that called each man 
to his station, to perform the desired evolution. The confident assurances which the 
young officer had given to the pilot respecting the qualities of his vessel, and his own 
ability to manage her, were fuUy realized by the result. The helm was no sooner put 
alee, than the huge ship bore up gallantly against the wind, .and dashing directly 




NK'.V TOiiV. W A TilW!.'. 



T H E F R I G A T E 1 N A S T O K il . 93 

throiigli the waves, threw the foam high into the air, as she looked boldly into the 
very eye of the wind, and then, yielding gracefully to its power, she fell oft' on the 
other track, with her head j)ointed from those dangerous shoals that she had so recently 
approached with such terrifying velocity. The hea\'y yards swung round, as if they 
had heeu vanes to indicate the currents of the air, and in a few moments the frigate 
again moved with stately progress through the water, leaving the rocks and shoals 
behind her on one side of the bay, Init advancing toward those that offered equal 
danger on the other. 

During this time the sea was becoming more agitated, and the violence of the wind 
was gradually increasing. The latter no longer wliistled amid the cordage of the 
vessel, but it seemed to howl, surlily, as it passed the complicated machinery that the 
frigate obtruded on its path. -(Vn endless succession of white surges rose above the 
heavy billows, and the very air was glittering ■\vith the light that was disengaged from 
the ocean. The shij) yielded, each moment, more and more before the storm, and in 
less than half an hour from the time that she had lifted lier a)ichor, she was driven 
along with tremendous fury by the full power of a gale of whid. Still, the hardy and 
experienced mariners who directed her movements, held her to the course that was 
necessary to their preservation, and still Griffith gave forth, when directed by their 
miknown pilot, those orders that turned her in the narrow channel where safety was 
alone to be foimd. 

So far, the performance of his duty appeared easy to the stranger, and he gave the 
required directions in those still, calm tones, that formed so remarkable a contrast to 
the responsibility of his situation. But when the land was becoming dim, in distance 
as well as darkness, and the agitated sea alone was to be discovered as it swept by 
them in foam, he broke in upon the monotonous roaring of the tempest with the sounds 
of his voice, seeming to shake off" his apathy, and rouse himself to the occasion. 

" Xow is the time to watch her closely, 3Ir. (xriffith," he cried ; "here we get the 
true tiile and the real danger. Place the best quartermaster of your ship in those 
chains, and let an officer stand by him and see that he gives us the right water." 

"I will take that office on myself," said the captain; "pass a light into the weather 
main-chains." 

" Stand by your braces !" exclaimed the jiilot, with startling quickness. "Heave 
away that lead !" 

These preparations taught the crew to expect the crisis, and every officer and man 
stood in fearful silence, at his assigned station, awaitmg the issue of the trial. Even 
the quartermaster at the gun gave out his orders to the men at the wheel in deeper 
and hoarser tones than usual, as if anxious not to disturb the quiet and order of the 
vessel. 

While this deep expectation pervaded the frigate, the piercing cry of the leadsman, 
as he called " by the mark seven," rose above the tempest, crossed over the decks, 



94 PAGESANDPIGTURES. 

micl appeared to pass away to leeward, borne on the blast like the waruiiigs of some 
water-s]>irit. 

" 'Tis well," returned the pilot, calmly ; " try it aifain." 

The short pause was succeeded b}' another cry, " and a half five !" 

" She shoals ! she shoals !" exclaimed Griffith ; " keep her a gooil full." 

" Aye ! you must hold the vessel in command, now," said the pilot, with those cool 
tones that are most appalling in critical moments, because they seem to denote most 
preparation and care. 

The third call of "by tlie deep four!" was followed by a prompt direction from 
the stranger to tack. 

Griffith seemed to emulate the coolness of the pilot, in issuing the necessary orders 
to execute this mananivre. 

Tlie vessel rose slowly from the inclined position into which slie had been forced 
by the tempest, and the sails were shakhig violently, as if to release tliemselves from 
their confinement, Mliile the sliip stemmed llie billows, when the well-known voice of 
the sailing-master was heard shouting i'nmi the forecastle — 

" Breakers ! breakers, dead ahead !" 

This appalling sound seemed yet to be lingering about the ship, when a second 
voice cried — 

" Breakers on our lee-bow !" 

" We are in a bite of the shoals, Mr. Gr.ay," cried the commander. " She loses her 
way; perhaj)S an anchor might hold her." 

" Clear away that best bower," shouted Griffith, through his trumpet. 

" Hold on !" cried the pilot, in a voice that reached the very hearts of all who heard 
him; "hold on every thing." 

The young man turned fiercely to the daring stranger, who thus defied the dis- 
cipline of his vessel, and at once demanded — 

" Who is it that dares to countermand my orders ? is it not enough that you 
run the ship into danger, but you must interfere to keep her there ! If another 
word — " 

"Peace, Mr. Griffith," interrupted the captain, bending from the rigging, his gray 
locks blowing about in the wind, and adding a look of wildness to the liaggard care 
tluit he exhibited by the light of his lantern ; " yield the trum]>et to Mr. Gray — he 
alone can save us." 

Griffith threw his speaking-trumpet on the deck, and as he walked proudly away, 
muttered, in bitterness of feeling — 

" Then all is lost, indeed, and among the rest, the foolish hopes with which I visited 
this coast." 

There was, however, no time for reply ; the sliip had been rapidly running uito the 
wind, and as the efforts of the crew were ])aralyzed by the contradictory orders they 



THE F R I G A T E 1 X A STORM. 95 

had heard, slie gradually lost her way, and in a few seconds all her sails were taken 
aback. 

Before the crew understood their situation, tlie pilot had applied the trumpet to his 
mouth, and in a voice that rose above the tempest, he thundered forth his orders. 
Each command was given distinctly, and with a precision that showed him to be 
master of his profession. The helm was kept fast, the head yards swung up lieavily 
against the wind, and the vessel was soon whirling round on her heel, with a retro- 
grade movement. 

Griffith was too much of a seaman not to perceive that the pilot had seized, with a 
perception almost intuitive, the only method that promised to extricate the vessel from 
her situation. He was young, impetuous, and proud — but he was also ge;:?rous. For- 
getting his resentment and his mortification, he rushed forward among the men, and, 
by his presence and examj)le, added certainty to the experiment. The ship fell off 
slowly before the gale, and bowed her yards nearly to the water, as she felt the blast 
pouring its fury on her broadside, while the surly waves beat violently against her stern, 
as if in reproach at departing from her usual manner of moving. 

The voice of the pilot, however, was still heard, steady and calm, and yet so clear 
and high as to reach every ear ; and the obedient seamen whirled the yards at his 
bidding, in despite of the tempest, as if they handled the toys of their childhood. 
When the ship had fallen off dead before the wind, lier head sails were sh.ikcn, her 
after-yards trimmed, and her helm shifted, before she had time to run upon the danger 
that had threatened, as well to leeward as to windward. The beautiful fabric, obedient 
to her government, threw her bows up gracefully toward the wind again, and as her 
sails were trimmed, moved out from among the dangerous shoals, in which she had 
been embayed, as steadily and swiftly as she had approached them. 

A moment of breathless astonishment succeeded the accomplishment of this nice 
mancEuvre, but there was no time for the usual expressions of surprise. The stranger 
still held the trumpet, and continued to lift his voice amid the bowlings of the blast, 
whenever prudence or skill directed any change in the management of the ship. For 
an hour longer, there was a fearful struggle for their preservation, the channel becom- 
ing, at each step, more complicated, and the shoals thickening around the mariners on 
every side. The lead was cast rapidly, and the cpiick eye of the pilot seemed to pierce 
the darkness with a keenness of vision that exceeded human power. It was apparent 
to .all in the vessel, that they were under the guidance of one who understood the 
navigation thoroughly, and their exertions kept pace with their reviving confidence. 
Again and again, the frigate appeared to be rushing blindly on shoals, where the sea 
was covered with foam, and where destruction would have been as sudden as it was 
certain, when the clear voice of the stranger was heard warning them of the danger, 
and inciting them to their duty. The vessel was implicitly yielded to his government, 
and during those anxious moments when she was dashing the waters aside, throwing 



96 P A Ci E S A N D P 1 C T U RES. 

the spray over Iier enormous yards, each ear would Usteu eagerly for those sounds that 
had obtained a command over the crew, that can only be acquired, imder such circum- 
stances, by great steadiness and consummate skill. The ship was recovering from the 
inaction of changing her course, in one of those critical tacks that she had made so 
often, when the pilot, for the first time, addressed the commander of the frigate, who 
still continued to superintend the all-imjiortant duty of the leadsman. 

" Now is the pinch," he said, " and if the ship behaves well, we are safe — but if 
otherwise, all we have yet done will be useless." 

The veteran seaman whom he addressed left the chains, at this portentous notice, 
and calling to his first-lieutenant, required of the stranger an explanation of his 
warning. 

" See you yon light on the southern lieadland ?" returned the pUot ; " you may 
know it from the star near it — by its suiking, at times, in the ocean. Now observe the 
hom-nioc, a little north of it, looking like a sliadow in the horizon — 'tis a hill far inland. 
If we keep that light open from the hill, wo shall do well — but if not, we surely go to 
pieces." 

" Let us tack again !" exclaimed the lieutenant. 

The pilot shook his head, as he replied — 

" There is no more tacking or box-hauling to be done to-night. We have barely 
room to pass out of the shoals on this course, and if we can weather the ' Devil's- 
Grip,' we clear theii' outermost point — but if not, as I said before, there is but an 
alternative." 

" If we had beaten out the way we entered !" exclaimed Griffith, " we should have 
done well." 

" Say also, if the tide would have let us do so," returned the i^ilot, calmly. " Gen- 
tlemen, we must be prompt ; we have but a mile to go, and the ship appears to fly. 
That topsail is not enough to keep her up to the wind ; we want both jib and nuiin- 
saU." 

" 'Tis a perilous thing to loosen canvas in such a tempest !" observed the doubtful 
captain. 

" It must be done," returned the collected stranger; we perish without it — see ! the 
light already touches the edge of the hom-moc ; the sea casts us to leeward !" 

"It shall be done!" cried Griffith, seizing the trumpet from the hand of the pilot. 

The orders of the lieutenant were executed almost as soon as issued, and every thing 
being ready, the enormous folds of the mainsail were trusted, loose, to the blast. There 
was an instant when the result was doubtful ; the tremendous threshing of the heavy 
sail seeming to bid defiance to all restraint, shaking the ship to her centre ; but art and 
strength prevailed, and gradually the canvas was distended, and bellying as it filled, 
was drawn down to its usual place by the power of a hundred men. The vessel 
yielded to this immense addition of force, and bowed before it, like a reed bending to 



T H E F R 1 G A T E f .V A S T O li M . 97 

a breeze. But the success of the lueasure was aiiuouuced by a joj'I'ul cry from the 
stranger, that seemed to burst from his inmost soul. 

"She feels it! she springs her lufl"!— observe," he said, "the light opens from the 
hom-moc already ; if she will only bear her canvas, we shall go clear. 

A report like that of a cannon interrupted his exclamation, and something resem- 
bling a white cloud was seen drifting before the wind from the head of the ship, tiU it 
was driven into the gloom ihr to leeward. 

" 'Tis the jib, blown from the bolt-ropes," said the commander of the frigate. 
" This is no time to spread light duck — but the mainsail may stand it yet." 

"The sail would laugh at a tornado," returned the lieutenant, "but the mast 
springs like a piece of steel." 

" Silence aU !" cried the pilot. " Xow, gentlemen, we shall soon know our fate. Let 
her lufl" — luif you can !" 

This waruuig eflectually closed all discourse, and the hardy mariners, knowing that 
they had already done all in the power of man to insure their safety, stood in breathless 
anxiety, awaiting the result. At a short distance ahead of them the whole ocean was 
white with foam, and the \\'aves, instead of rolling on, in regular succession, appeared 
to be tossing about in mad gambols. A single streak of dark billows, not half a cable's 
length in width, could be discerned running into this chaos of water; l)ut it was soon 
lost to the eye amid the confusion of the disturbed element. Along this narrow path 
the vessel moved more heavOy than before, being brought so near the wind as to keep 
her sails touching. The pilot silently proceeded to the wheel, and, with his own hands, 
he undertook the steering of the ship. No noise proceeded from the frigate to inter- 
rupt the horrid tumult of the ocean, and she entered the channel among the breakers, 
■\vith the silence of a desjjerate calmness. Twenty times, as the foam rolled away to 
leeward, the crew were on the eve of uttering their joy as they supposed the vessel past 
the danger ; but breaker after breaker would still heave uj) before them, following each 
other into the general mass, to check their exultation. Occasionally, the fluttering of 
the sails would be heard ; and when the looks of the startled seamen were turned to the 
wheel, they beheld the stranger grasping its spokes, with his quick eye glancing from the 
water to the canvas. At length the ship reached a point, where she appeared to be 
rushing directly into the jaws of destruction, when, suddenly, her course was changed, 
and her head receded rapidly from the A\-ind. At the same instant the voice of the 
pilot was heard shoutuig — 

" Square away the yards ! — in mainsail !" 

A general burst from the crew echoed, " square away the yards !" and, quick as 
thought, the frigate was seen gliding along the channel before the wind. The eye had 
hardly time to dwell on the foam, which seemed like clouds driving in the heavens, 
and directly the gallant vessel issued from her perils, and rose and fell on the heavy 
waves of the open sea. 
13 



98 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



The seamen were yet drawing long breaths, and gazing about them like men re- 
covered from a trance, when Griffith approached the man who had so successfully 
conducted them through their perils. The young lieutenant grasped the hand of the 
other as he said — 

" You have this night proved yourself a faithful pilot, and such a seaman as the 
world cannot equal." 

The pressure of the hand was warmly returned by the unknown mariner, who 
replied — 

" I am no stranger to the seas, and I may yet find my grave in them. But you, too, 
have deceived me ; you have acted noblj', young man, and Congress — " 

" What of Congress ?" asked Griffith, observing him to pause. 

" Why, Congress is fortunate if it has many such ships as this," said the stranger, 
coldly, walking away toward the commander. 

Griffith gazed after him, a moment, in surprise ; but as his duty required his atten- 
tion, other thoughts soon engaged his mind. 

The vessel was pronounced to be in safet)'. The gale was heavy and increasing, 
but there was a clear sea before them, and, as she slowly stretched out into the bosom 
of the ocean, preparations were made for her security during its continuance. Before 
midnight every thing was in order. A gun from the Ariel soon announced the safety 
of the schooner also, which had gone out by another and an easier channel, that the 
frigate had not dared to attempt ; when the commander directed the usual watch to be 
set, and the remainder of the crew to seek their necessary rejjose. 





-^iiW'- 








V. 



LIONEL LINCOLN, 



"W KITING was no longer an experiment. Tlirec liiglily successful works, each 
differing from the other in character, had been given to the country. The plan 
of a fourth romance was now sketched, and tlie first chapters of Lionel Lincoln 
were soon written. 

The leading idea of this l)ook has been considered as in itself a mistake ; as 
presenting difficulties which, by their nature, were all but insuperable. It was 
the wish of the writer to draw, in the character of Lionel Lincoln, the represen- 
tative of a large and an honorable class of men, intimately connected witli the 
country and its history, by birth and association, but whose political conviction 
and action were directly opposed to the triumphant party. Tlius far there was 
assuredly nothing impossible in the plan. Majorities give success and its thou- 
sand rewards ; but they can show no jirerogative endowing them with an 
exclusive claim to the spirit of heroism ; on the contrary, the world's story will 
prove that the proportion of heroic spirits has often been greater among minori- 
ties. Neither was there any thing in the position of the character drawn, or in 
that of the class he represented, incompatible with a strong interest to be thrown 
about his person. The feeling of loyalty to a sovereign may be not only natural 



LOFC. 



H){) PAGES AND PICTURES. 

and strong, but liiglily honorable also in tliose born subjects to a crown. It was 
a feeling Avbicli had great depth in many of the best American hearts of the 
period of the Revolution — one which long swayed the thought and action of 
Washington himself. It was a feeling to which, in its best forms, every generous 
nature can render justice. And in the hour of struggle allegiance to any legit- 
imate established government is not to be lightly thrown oil'. • The very men 
who, when the contest of the Revolution had once begun, were foremost as 
statesmen and soldiers in behalf of America, were those whose course in its 
earlier stages was most clearly marked with an honorable reluctance to utter 
violent language — to raise the standard of revolt — to give the signal for strife. 
Such a character as that of Lionel was, therefore, not only natural, but could be 
proved to have had actual existence. The struggles which such a man,' in a 
similar ])osition, must necessarily go through in the thrilling scenes of a great 
political revolution, offered, nideed, all the necessary materials for interest in a 
work of fiction. We have recently seen a distinguished English writer of the 
present day taking much the same view of the subject; in his "Virginians" he 
has attempted to give a picture of both sides of the great struggle, showing 
twin-brothers taking opposite ground on the question. The error in Mr. Cooj)er's 
novel did not, therefore, lie essentially in the conception of the character of his 
nominal hero. Tlie greatest obstacle was to be found rather in the position of the 
autlior himself : his own sympathies were in fact too strongly enlisted in the 
opposite direction. While the general outline of the sketch was accurate, and 
capable of being well filled up, in the details of the work he did not render jus- 
tice to the character he had himself conceived. lie became weary of his task ; 
his own interest in what he had intended for the principal figure of the picture 
flagged, and, as an inevitable consequence, that of the reader was not sufiiciently 
aroused. A writer of colder temperament, of less earnest sincerity of nature, 
might hare executed the same task much more successfully. In reading Lionel 
Lincoln, we find that the principal personage does not grow upon us ; as we 
proceed in the book we are constantly expecting some new combination of cir- 
cumstances, some stirrino; scene, some great event, which shall bring him into 
higher and clearer relief. Such events occur, such scenes are gi\'en in the nar- 
rative ; but throughout the book, the figure of Lionel never really fills the eye 
of tlie reader, never entirely engrosses his attentions and sympathies. AVe close 
the tale with the conviction that we have made the acquaintance of an agreeable, 
gentlemanly, and honorable young ofiicer of the grenadiers, and nothing more. 
The author himself was dissatisfied with liis work. In his own opinion, a tale 
connected with the wonderful siege of Boston, and the memorable battle of 



LIONEL LINCOLN. JQl 

Bunker Hill, should have presented some more striking character to the reader 
than that of Lionel Lincoln. 

As if to accumulate obstacles for himself, in this book, not content .^'ith the 
embarrassments belonging to the position of the young American officer enlisted 
on the side of the crown, the author introduced into the tale two additional 
characters, each. in itself full of unusual difficulties. We have good authoritv, 
however, for asserting that in both these instances tlie task was skilfully managed. 
In Ralph, the father of Major Lincoln, the author has represented an honorable 
and educated mind, originally strong and sound, now disturbed and clouded by 
derangement ; erratic and infirm, yet dignified, upright, and authoritative, even 
imder the^ great calamity. In Job Pray, the rude, half-witted Boston boy, the 
brother of Lionel, he has drawn a nature entirely homely and untutored, but en- 
dowed with generous instincts, struggling under the infirmity of partial idiocy. 
Both sketches assuredly have merit. (_)ur sympathies are awakened in behalf 
of the deranged father, they are warnily aroused by the half-witted son, while 
there is nothing forced, no strainins: at eifect, nothing; revolting in either. One 
of the best physicians in the country repeatedly declared that the nice distinctions 
between the difl^erent shades of disordered reasDU in Ralph and Job. were drawn 
with truth and skill. In both instances, the feeling of compassion in the reader's 
mind is blended with respect for a great infirmity of our common nature ; any 
representation of a character cf this kind which does not excite the latter feeling 
becomes indeed quite unjustifiable. 

Tlie natural channel in which the author's symj)athies were actually flowing, 
is clearly betrayed in the sketch of Job, who soon becomes a favorite with the 
reader. His just, yet half-blind indignation against an oppression which had 
aroused the noblest minds in the country ; his prejudices, honest and natural, 
but violent and vulgar ; his instinctive love of country ; his afitction for his 
mother ; liis generous feeling for Lionel ; the petty cunning invariably connected 
with his diseased mind ; the little Yankee peculiarities engrafted on his char- 
acter ; the strange blending of courage and cowardice in his infirm nature, make 
up together a sketch of mueli truth and merit. Tlie poor half-witted son of 
Abigail, the tenant of the old warehouse, becomes, in fact, the true hero of the 
book. 

The title-page of the first edition of Lionel Lincoln bore an inscription after- 
ward erased : " A Legend of the Tliirteen Republics." At the time of wi-iting 
the book, the author had planned a series of works of fiction, to be drawn from 
the early historical sources of the country — the scene of each tale to be laid in 
one of the thirteen different colonies which formed the L'nion. His own love 



102 



PAGES AND PICTUREl 



of couutry had nothing of the petty, provincial, piierile view whicli would con- 
fine patriotism to the limits of one's own horizon. He was loyal to the whole 
country in the highest sense of the words — to the Union, which is the soul of its 
national existence. It was his wish to contribute something to the local literature 
of each of the different divisions of the republic. His departure for Europe, 
which prevented his visiting the more southern states, and collecting local details, 
interfered with his carrying this plan into execution. No second work of the 
projected series having been ■wTitten, the reference to the Thirteen Legends was 
removed from the later editions. 

The sketch of the battle of Bunker Hill included in this novel, was carefully 
written. Every effort to preserve accuracy was made. The principal historical 
authorities, the state papers, official rejDorts, etc., etc., were studied. A journey 
to Boston was made for the purpose of going over the ground in person. Even 
almanacs, and records of the weather, were consulted, to insure greater accuracy 
in detail. Tlie account of the battle is given as a selection from " Lionel 
Lincoln.'" 




'1} 




THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. 



When the heavy sleep of morning fell upon his senses, visions of the past and 
future mingled with wild confusion in the dreams of the youthful soldier. The form 
of his father stood before him, as he had known it in his childhood, fair in the propor- 
tions and vigor of manhood, regarding hmi ^vith those eyes of benignant but melan- 
choly affection, which characterized their expression after he had become the sole joy 
of his widowed parent. While his heart was warming at the sight, the figure melted 
away, and was succeeded by fantastic phantoms, which appeared to dance among the 
graves on Copp's, led along in those gambols, which partook of the ghastly horrors of 
the dead, by Job Pray, who glided among the tombs like a being of another world. 
Sudden and loud thunder then burst upon them, and the shadows fled into their secret 
places, from whence he could see, ever and anon, glassy eyes and spectral faces, 
peering out upon him, as if conscious of the power they possessed to chill the blood 
of the living. His visions now became painfully distinct, and his sleep was oppressed 
with their vividness, when his senses burst their unnatural bonds, and he awoke. 
The air of morning was breathing through his open curtains, and the light of day 
had already shed itself upon the dusky roofs of the town. Lionel arose from his bed, 
and had paced his chamber several times, in a vain effort, to shake off the images that 



104 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

had haunted his shimbevs, when the sounds which broke upon tlie stillness of the air, 
became too plaui to be longer mistaken by a practised ear. 

" Ha !" he muttered to himself, " I have been dreaming but by halves — these are 
the sounds of no fancied tempest, but cannon, speaking most plainly to the soldier !" 

He opened his window, and looked out upon the surrounduig scene. The roar of 
artillery was now quick and heavy, and Lionel bent his eyes about him to discover the 
cause of this unusual occurrence. It had been the policy of Gage to await the arrival 
of his reinforcements, before he struck a blow which was intended to be decisive ; and 
the .Americans were Avell known to be too scantily supplied with the munitions of war, 
to waste a single charge of powder in any of the vain attacks of modern sieges. A 
knowledge of these facts gave an additional interest to the curiosity with which Major 
Lincoln endeavored to penetrate the mystery of so singular a disturbance. Window 
after window in the adjacent buildings soon exhibited, like his own, its wondering and 
alarmed spectator. Here and there a half-dressed soldier, or a busy townsman, was 
seen hurrying along the silent streets, with steps that denoted the eagerness of his 
curiosity. Women began to rush wildly from their dwellings, and then, as the sounds 
broke on their ears with tenfold heaviness in the open air, they shrunk back into their 
habitations in pallid dismay. Lionel called to three or four of the men, as they hurried 
by ; but, turning their eyes wildly toward his window, they passed on without an- 
swering, as if the emergency were too pressing to admit of speecli. Finding his 
repeated inquiries fruitless, lie hastily dressed himself and descended to the street. As 
ho left his own door, a half-clad artillerist hurried past him, adjusting his garments with 
one hand, and bearing in the other some of the lesser implements of the particular 
corps in which he served. 

" What means the firing, sergeant ?" demanded Lionel, " and whither do you hasten 
with those fusees ?" 

"The rebels, your honor, the rebels!" returned the soldier, looking back to speak, 
without ceasing his speed ; " and I go to my guns !" 

"The rebels !" repeated Lionel — " what can we have to fear from a mob of country- 
men, in such a position — that fellow has slejit from his post, and apprehensions for him- 
self mingle with tliis zeal for his king !"' 

The townspeople now began to pour from tiieir dwellings in scores; and Lionel 
imitated their example, and took his course toward the adjacent height of Beacon Hill. 
He toiled his way up the steep ascent, m company with twenty more, without exchang- 
ing a syllable with men who appeared as much astonished as himself at this early 
interruption of their slumbers, and in a few minutes he stood on the little grassy plat- 
form, surrounded by a hundred interested gazers. The sun had just lifted the thin 
veil of mist from the bosom of the waters, and the eye was permitted to range o^•er a 
wide field beneath the light vapor. Several vessels were moored in the channels of the 
Chai'les and Mystiek, to cover the northern approaches to the place ; and as he beheld 



THE BATTLE U !•' BUNKER HILL. IO5 

the column of white smoke that was wreathing about the masts of a frigate among 
them, Lionel was no longer at a loss to comprehend whence the firing proceeded. 
While he was yet gazing, imcertain of the reasons which demanded this show of war, 
immense fields of smoke burst from the side of a ship of the line, who also opened her 
deep-mouthed cannon, and presently her example was followed by several floatuig 
l)atteries, and Ughter vessels, until the wide amphitheatre of hiUs that encu-cled Boston 
was filled with the echoes of a hundred pieces of artillery. 

" What can it mean, sir ?" exclaimed a young officer of his own regiment, address- 
ing Major Lincoln — " the sailors are in downright earnest, and they scale their guns 
with shot, I know, by the rattling of the reports !" 

" I can boast of a vision no better than your own," returned Lionel ; " for no enemy 
can I see. " As the guns seem pointed at the opposite peninsula, it is probable a party 
of the Americans are attempting to destroy the grass which lies newly mourn in the 
meadows." 

The young officer was in the act of assenting to this conjecture, when a voice was 
heard above their heads, shouting — 

" There goes a gim from Copp's ! They needn't think to frighten the people -ftith 
their rake-helly noises ; let them blaze away till the dead get out of their graves — the 
Bay-men will keep the hUl !" 

Every eye was immediately turned uj)ward, and the wondering and amused specta- 
tors discovered Job Pray, seated in the grate of the beacon, his countenance, usually 
so vacant, gleaming with exultation, while he continued waving his hat high in air, 
as gun after gim was added to the uproar of the cannonade. 

" How now, fellow !" exclaimed Lionel ; " what see you ? and where are the Bay- 
men of whom you speak ?" 

"Where?" returned the simpleton, clapping his hands with chUdish delight — "why, 
where they came at dark midnight, and where they'D stand at open noon-day ! The 
Bay-men can look into the wmdows of old Funnel at last, and now let the reg'lars come 
on, and they'll teach the godless murderers the law !" 

Lionel, a little irritated with the bold language of Job, called to him in an angry 
voice — 

" Come down from that perch, fellow, and explain yourself, or this grenadier shall 
Uft you from your seat, and transfer you to the post, for a little of that wholesome 
correction which you need." 

" You promised that the gramiies should never flog Job ag'in," said the changeling, 
crouching down in the grate, whence he looked out at his threatened chastiser with a 
lowermg and sullen eye — " and Job agreed to run your a'r'nds, and not take any of the 
king's crowns in pay." 

" Come down, then, this instant, and I will remember the compact." 

Comforted bv this assurance, which was made in a more friendly tone, Job threw 
14 ■ 



106 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

liiiiiself carelessly from his iron seat, and clinging to the post, he slid swii'tly to the 
earth, where Major Lincoln innuediately arrested him by the arm, and demanded — 

"Where are those Bay-men, I once more ask?" 

" There !" repeated Job, pointing over the low roofs of the town, in tlie direction 
of the opposite peninsula. " They dug their cellar on Breed's, and now they are 
fixing the underpinnin', and next you'll see what a raising they'll invite the people to!" 

The instant the spot was named, all those eyes which had hitherto gazed at the 
vessels themselves, instead of searching for the object of their hostility, were turned 
on the green eminence which rose a little to the right of the village of Charlestown, 
and every doubt was at once removed by the discovery. The high, conical summit of 
Bunker Hill lay naked, and unoccupied, as on the preceding day ; but on the extremity 
of a more humble ridge, which extended witliin a short distance of the water, a low 
bank of earth had been thrown up, for purposes which no military eye could mistake. 
This redoubt, small and inartificial as it was, commanded by its position the whole 
of the inner harbor of Boston, and even endangered, in some measure, the occupants 
of the town itself It was the sudden appearance of this magical mound, as the mists 
of the morning had dispersed, which roused the slumbering seamen ; and it had 
already become the target of all the guns of the shipjjing in the bay. Amazement at 
the temerity of their countrymen held the townsmen silent, whOe ISIajor Lincoln, and 
the few oflicers who stood nigh him, saw, at a glance, that this step on the part of 
their adversaries would bring the aifairs of the leaguer to an instant crisis. In vain 
they turned their wondering looks on the neighborhig eminence, and around the 
diflerent points of the jieniusula, in quest of those places of support with which 
soldiers generally intrench their defences. The husbandmen opposed to them had 
seized upon the point best calculated to annoy their foes, without regard to the con- 
sequences ; and in a few short hours, favored by the mantle of night, had thrown up 
their work with a dexterity that was only exceeded by their boldness. The truth 
flashed across the brain of Major Lincoln with his first glance, and he felt his cheeks 
glow as he remembered the low and indistinct murmurs, which the night air had 
wafted to his ears, and those inexplicable fancies which had even continued to haunt 
him till dispersed by truth and the light of day. Motioning to Job to follow, he 
left the hill with a hurried step, and when they gained the common, he turned, and 
said, sternly, to his companion — 

" Fellow, you have been privy to this midnight work !'' 

" Job has enough to do in the day, without laboring in the night, when none but 
the dead are out of their places of rest," returned the lad, with a look of mental 
imbecility, which immediately disarmed the resentment of the other. 

Lionel smiled as he again remembered his own weakness, and repeated to 
himself — 

" The dead ! aye, these are the works of the Uving ; and bold men are they who 



THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. 107 

have ilured to do the deed, lint tell me, Job — for 'tis iu vain to attempt deceiving 
me any longer — what number of Americans did you leave on the hill, when you crossed 
the Charles to visit the graves on Copp's, the past night ?" 

" Both hills were crowded," returned the other — " Breed's ■with the people, and 
Copp's with the ghosts — Job believes the dead rose to see their children digging so 
nigh them!" 

" 'Tis probable," said Lionel, who believed it wisest to humor the wild conceits of 
the lad, in order to disarm his cunning ; " but, though the dead are invisible, the 
living may be counted." 

"Job did count five hundred men marching over the nose of Bunker, by star-light, 
with their picks and spades ; and then he stopped, for he forgot whether seven or eight 
hundred came next." 

" And after you ceased to count, did many others pass ?" 

" The Bay colony isn't so poorly oft" for men, that it can't muster a thousand at a 
raising." 

" But you had a master workman on the occasion ; was it the wolf-hunter of Con- 
necticut ?" 

" There is no occasion to go from the province to find a workman to lay out a cellar ! 
— Dickey Gridley is a Boston boy !" 

" jVh ! he is the chief! we can liave nothing to fear then, since the Connecticut 
woodsman is not at their head !" 

" Do you think old Prescott, of Pepperel, wUl quit the hill while he has a kernel of 
powder to burn ? — no, no. Major Lincoln, Ralph himself an't a stouter warrior ; and 
you can't frighten Ralph !" 

" But if they fire their cannon often, their small stock of ammunition will be soon 
consumed, and then they must unavoidably run." 

Job laughed tauntingly, and with an appearance of high scorn, before he an- 
swered — 

"Yes, if the Bay-men were as dumb as the king's troops, and used such big guns! 
but the cannon of the colony want but little brimstone, and there's but few of them. — 
Let the rake-hellles go up to Breed's ; the j)eop!e will teach them the law !" 

Lionel had now obtained all he expected to learn from the simpleton, concerning 
the force and condition of the Americans; and as the moments were too precious to be 
wasted in vain discourse, he bid the lad repair to his quarters that night, and left him. 
On entering his own lodgings. Major Lincoln shut himself uj) in his private apartment, 
and passed several hours in writing, and examining important papers. One letter, in 
particular, was w'ritten, read, torn, and rewritten, five or six times, until at length he 
placed his seal, and directed the important paper with a sort of carelessness that de- 
noted his patience was exhausted by repeated trials. These documents were intrusted 
to Meriton, with orders to deliver them to their several addresses, unless countermanded 



J^OS PAGES AND PICTURES. 

before the following day ; and the young man hastily swallowed a late and light lireak- 
fast. While shut up iu Ms closet, Lionel had several times thrown aside liis pen to 
listen, as the hum of the place penetrated to his retirement, and announced the excite- 
ment and bustle wliich pervaded the streets of tlie town. Having at length completed 
the task he had assigned himself, he caught up his hat, and took his way, with liasty 
steps, into the centre of the place. 

Cannon were rattling over the rough pavements, followed by ammimition wagons, 
and officers and men of the artillery were seen in swift pursuit of their pieces. Aide- 
de-canips were riding furiously through the streets, charged with important messages ; 
and here and there an officer might be seen issuing from his quarters, with a countenance 
in which manly pride struggled jJowerfully with inward dejection, as he caught the last 
glance of anguisli, which followed his retiring form, from eyes that had been used to 
meet his own with looks of confidence and love. There was, however, but little time 
to dwell on these flitting glimpses of domestic woe, amid tlie general liustle aiid glitter 
of the scene. Now and then, the strains of martial music broke up through the wind- 
ings of the crooked avenues, and detachments of the troops wheeled by, on their way 
to the appointed place of embarkation. While Lionel stood a moment at the corner of 
a street, admiring the firm movement of a body of grenadiers, his eye fell on the pow- 
erful frame and rigid features of M'Fuse, marching at the head of his company with 
that gravity which regarded the accuracy of the step amongst the important incidents 
of life. At a short distance from him was Job Pray, timing his paces to the tread of 
the soldiers, and regarding the gallant show with stupid admiration, while his ear un- 
consciously drank the inspiring music of tlieir band. As this fine body of men passed 
on, it was immediately succeeded by a battalion, in which Lionel Instantly recognized 
the facings of liis own regiment. The warm-hearted Polwarth led its forward files, 
and, waving liis liand, he cried — 

" God bless you, Leo, God bless you — we shall make a fair stand-up fight of this ; 
there is an end of all stag-hunting." 

The notes of the horns rose above his voice, and Lionel could do no more than re. 
turn his cordial salute ; when, recalled to his purpose by the sight of his comrades, he 
turned and pursued his way to the quarters of tlie commander-in-chief. 

The gate of Province-House was thronged with military men ; some waiting for 
admittance, an<l others entering and departing with the air of those who were charged 
with tlie execution of matters of the deepest moment. The name of Major Lincoln was 
h.ardly announced before an aide appeared to conduct him into the presence of the 
governor, with a jioliteness and liaste that several gentlemen, who had been in waiting 
for hours, deemed in a trifling degree unjust. 

Lionel, however, having little to do with mui-niurs which he did not hear, followed 
his conductor, and was immediately ushered into the apartment, where a council of war 
liad just closed its deliberations. On tlie tlireshold of its door, he was compelled 



THE BATTLE OF BUXKKR HILL. Kjy 

to give way to au officer, who was departing Lu haste, aiid whose powerful frame 
seemed bent a httle m the intensity of thought, as his dark, inUitary coimtenauce 
lighted for an instant with the salutation he returned to the low bow of the young 
soldier. Aroimd this chief, a group of younger men immediately clustered, and as they 
departed in company, Lionel was enabled to gather from their conversation, that tliey 
took their way for the field of battle. The room was fiUed with officers of high rank ; 
though here and there was to be seen a man in civU attire, whose disappointed and 
bitter looks aunoimced him to be one of those mandamus coimsellors, whose evil advice 
had hastened the mischief their wisdom could never i-epair. From out a small circle of 
these mortified ci\-ilians, the unpretending person of Gage advanced to meet Lionel, 
formiug a marked contrast, by the simpUcity of its dress, to the military splendor that 
was glittering arovmd him. 

"Li what can I oblige Major Lincoln?" he said, taking the young man by the hand 
cordially, as if glad to be rid of the troublesome counsellors he had so unceremoniously 
quitted. 

" ' Wolfe's own' has just passed me on its way to the boats, and I have ventured to 
intrude on your excellency to inquire if it were not time its major had resumed his 
duty." 

A shade of thought was seated for a moment on the placid features of the general, 
and he then answered, with a friendly smile — 

" 'Twill be no more than an .affiiir of outposts, and must be quickly ended. But 
should I grant the request of every brave yoimg man whose spirit is uj) to-day, it might 
cost his majesty's service the life of some officer that would make the purchase of tlie 
pile of earth too dear." 

" But may I not be permitted to say, that the fiimOy of Lincoln is of the province, 
and its example should not be lost on such an occasion ?" 

" The loyalty of the colonies is too well represented here to need the sacrifice," 
said Gage, glancing his eyes carelessly at the expecting group behind him. " My 
coimcil have decided on the officers to be employed, and I regret that Major Lincoln's 
name was omitted, siace I know it wiU give him pain ; but vahiable lives are not to 
be lightly and minecessarUy exposed." 

Lionel bowed ui submission ; and, after commimicating the little he had gathered 
from Job Pray, he turned away, and found himself near another officer of high rank, 
who smiled as he observed his disappointed coimtenance, and, taking him by the arm, 
led him from the room, with a freedom suited to his fine figure and easy air. 

" Then, like myself, Lincoln, you are not to battle for the king to-day," he said, on 
gaining the antechamber. " Howe has the luck of the occasion, if there can be luck 
in so vulgar an affair. But allons; accompany me to Copp's, as a spectator, since they 
deny us parts in the drama ; and perhaps we may pick up materials for a pasquinade, 
though not for an epic." 



110 P A G E S A N D IM C T U R E S . 

" Pardon me, General Burgoyne," said Lionel, " if I view the matter with more 
serious eyes than yourself." 

"Ah ! I had forgot that you were a follower of Percy in the hunt of Lexington !" 
interrupted the other ; " we will call it a tragedy, then, if it better suits your humor. 
For myself, Lincoln, I weary of these crooked streets and gloomy houses, and, having 
some taste for the poetry of nature, would have long since looked out upon the 
deserted fields of these husbandmen, had the authority, as well as the mclination, 
rested with me. But Clinton is joining us; he, too, is for Copp's, where we can all take 
a lesson in arms, by studying the manner in which Howe wields his battalions." 

A soldier of middle age now joined them, whose stout frame, while it wanted the 
grace and ease of the gentleman who still held Lionel by the arm, bore a martial 
character to which the look of the quiet and domestic Gage was a stranger ; and, fol- 
lowed by their se^•eral attendants, the wliole party immediately left the government- 
house to take their destined position on the eminence so often mentioned. 

As they entered the street, Burgoyne relinquished the arm of his companion, and 
moved with becoming dignity by the side of his brother general. Lionel gladly 
availed himself of this alteration to withdraw a little from the group, whose steps he 
followed at such a distance as permitted him to observe those exhibitions of feeUng, on 
the part of the inhabitants, which the jiride of the others induced them to overlook. 
Pallid and anxious female faces were gleaming out upon them from every window, 
while the roofs of the houses, and the steeples of the churches, were beginning to 
throng with more daring and equally interested spectators. The drums no longer 
rolled along the narrow streets, though, occasionally, the shrill strain of a fife was 
heard from the water, announcing the movements of the troops to the opposite 
peninsula. Over aU was heard the incessant roaring of the artUlery, which, untired, 
had not ceased to rumble in the air suice the ajjpearance of light, until the ear, accus- 
tomed to its presence, had learnt to distinguish the lesser sounds we have recorded. 

As the party descended into the lower passages of the town, it appeared deserted 
by every thing having life ; the open windows and neglected doors betraying the 
urgency of the feeUugs which had called the population to situations more favorable 
for observing the approacliing contest. This ajipearance of intense curiosity excited 
the sympathies o/ even the old and practised soldiers ; and, quickening their paces, the 
whole soon rose from among the gloomy edifices to the open and unobstructed view 
from the hill. 

The whole scene now lay before them. Nearly in their front was the village of 
Charlestown, with its deserted streets and silent roofs, looking like a place of the dead; 
or, if the signs of life were visible within its open avenues, 'twas merely some figure 
moving swiftly in the solitude, like one who hastened to quit the devoted spot. On 
the opposite point of the south-eastern face of the peninsula, and at the distance of a 
thousand yards, the ground was already covered by masses of human beings, in scarlet. 



kli J. f ^\%: '^^}i&fiiL _ _-. 







THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. HI 

with their arms glittering in a noon-day sun. Between the two, though in the more 
immediate vicinity of the sUent town, tlie rounded ridge, already described, rose 
abruptly from a flat tliat was boimded by the water, until, having attained an elevation 
of some fifty or sixty feet, it swelled gradually to the little crest, where was planted 
the humble object that had occasioned all this commotion. The meadows, on the 
right, were stUl peaceful and smiling, as in the most quiet days of the province, though 
the excited fancy of Lionel imagined that a sullen stillness lingered aboiVtJhe neglected 
kilns in their front, and over the whole landscape, that was in gloomy consonance with 
the approaching scene. Far on the left, across the waters of the Charles, the American 
camp had poured forth its thousands to the hills ; and the whole population of the 
country, for many miles inland, had g.ithered to a point to witness a struggle charged 
with the fate of their nation. Beacon Hill rose from out the appalling silence of the 
town of Boston, like a pyramid of living faces, with every eye fixed on the tatal point ; 
and men hung along the yaids of the shipping, or were suspended on cornices, 
cupolas, and steeples, in thoughtless security, while every other sense was lost in the 
absorbing interest of the sight. The vessels of war had hauled deep into the rivers, 
or, more properly, those narrow arms of the sea which formed the peninsula, and seat 
their iron missiles with unwearied industry across the low passage, which alone 
opened the means of communication between the self-devoted yeomen on the hill and 
their distant countrymen. While battalion landed after battalion on the point, cannon- 
balls from the battery of Copp's, and the vessels of war, were glancing up the natural 
glacis that surrounded the redoubt, burying themselves in its earthen parapet, or 
plunging with violence into the deserted sides of the loftier height which lay a few 
hundred yards in its rear ; and the black and smoking bombs appeared to hover 
above the spot, as if pausing to select the places in which to plant their deadly com- 
bustibles. 

Notwithstanding these appalling preparations and ceaseless annoyances, through- 
out that long and anxious morning, the stout husbandmen on the hill had never ceased 
their steady efibrts to maintain, to the uttermost extremity, the post they had so 
daringly assumed. In vain the English exhausted every means to disturb their stub- 
born foes ; the pick, the shovel, and the spade, continued to perform their olfices ; and 
mound rose after mound, amid the din and danger of the cannonade, steadily, and as 
well as if the fonciful conceits of Job Pray embraced their real objects, and the 
laborers were employed in the peaceful pursuits of their ordinary Lives. This firm- 
ness, however, was not like the proud front, which high training can impart to the 
most common mmd ; for, ignorant of the glare of military show — in the simple and 
rude vestments of their calling — armed with such weapons as they had seized from 
the hooks above their own mantels — and without even a banner to wave its cheering 
folds above then* heads, they stood, sustained only by the righteousness of their cause, 
and those deep moral principles which they had received from their fathers, and 



112 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

wliich tliey intended this day should show were to be transmitted untariidshed to theii- 
children. It was afterward known, that they endured their labors and their dangers 
even in want of that sustenance which is so essential to support animal spirits in 
moments of c.ilmness and ease ; while their enemies, on the jwint, awaiting the arrival 
of their latest bands, were securely devouring a meal, which to hundreds among them 
proved to be their last. Tiie fatal instant now seemed approaching. A general move- 
ment was seen among the battalions of the British, who began to spread along the 
shore, under cover of the brow of the hiU — the lingering boats havmg arrived with 
the rear of their detachments — and officers hurried from regiment to regiment with 
the final mandates of tlieir chief. At this moment a body of Americans appeared on 
the crown of Bunker Hill, and, descending swiftly by the road, disappeared in the 
meadows to the left of their own redoubt. This band was followed by others, who, 
like themselves, had broken through the dangers of the narrow pass, by braving the 
fire of the ship])ing, and who also hurried to join their comrades on the low laud. 
The British general determined at once to anticipate the arrival of further reinforce- 
ments, and gave forth the long-expected order to prepare for the attack. 

The Americans had maile a show, in the course of that fearful morning, of returning 
the fire of their enemies, by throwing a few shot from their light field-pieces, as if in 
mockery of the tremendous cannonade which they sustained. But as the moment of 
severest trial approached, the same awful stillness, which had settled upon the streets 
of Charlestown, hovered around the redoubt. On the meadows, to its left, the recently 
arrived bands hastily threw the rails of two fences into one, and, covering the whole 
with the mown grass that surrounded them, they posted themselves along the frail de- 
fence, which answered no better purpose than to conceal their weakness from their 
adversaries. Behind this characteristic rampart, several bodies of husbandmen, from 
the neighbormg provinces of New Hampshire and Connecticut, lay on their arms m 
sullen expectation. Their line extended from the shore to the base of the ridge, where 
it terminated several hundred feet behind the works ; leaving a wide opening in a 
diagonal direction, between the fence and an earthen breast-work, which ran a short 
distance down the declivity of the hill, from the north-eastern angle of the redoubt. A 
few hundred yards in the rear of this rude disposition, the naked crest of Bunker HUl 
rose unoccupied and undefended ; and the streams of the Charles and Mystick, sweep- 
ing around its base, approached so near each other as to blend the sounds of their 
rippling. It was across this low and narrow isthmus, that the royal frigates poured a 
stream of fire, that never ceased, wliiJe arovmd it hovered the numerous parties of the 
undisciplined Americans, hesitating to attempt the dangerous passage. 

In this manner Gage had, in a great degree, surrounded the devoted peninsula with 
his power ; and the bold men, who had so daringly planted themselves under the muz- 
zles of his cannon, were left, as already stated, unsupported, without nourishment, and 
with weapons from their own gun-hooks, singly to maintain the honor of their nation. 



THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. 113 

Including men of all ages, and comlitions, there might have been two thousand of them ; 
but, as the day advanced, small bodies of their countrymen, taking counsel of their feel- 
ings, and animated by the example of the old partisan of tlie woods, who crossed and 
recrossed the neck, loudly scoffing at the danger, broke through the fire of the shipping 
in time to join in the closing and bloody business of the hour. 

On the other hand, Howe led more than an equal number of the chosen troops of 
his prmce ; and as boats continued to ply between the two peninsulas throughout the 
afternoon, the relative disparity continued undiminished to the end of the struggle. It 
was at this jjoint in our narrative that, deeming himself sufficiently strong to force the 
defences of his despised foes, the arrangements immediately preparatory to such an 
undertaking were made in full view of the excited spectators. Notwithstanding the 
security with which the EngUsh general marshalled his warriors, he felt that the ap- 
proaching contest would be a battle ^)f no common incidents. The eyes of tens of 
thousands were fastened on his movements, and the occasion demanded the richest dis- 
play of the pageantry of war. 

The troops formed with beautiful accuracy, and the columns moved steadily aiOng 
the shore, and took their assigned stations under cover of the brow of the eminence. 
Their force was in some measure divided ; one moiety attempting the toilsome ascent 
of the hUl, and the other moving along the beach, or in the orchards of the more level 
ground, toward the husbandmen on the meadows. The latter soon disappeared behind 
some fruit-trees, and the brick-kilns just mentioned. The advance of the royal columns 
up the ascent was slow and measured, giving time to their field-guns to add their efforts 
to the uproar of the cannonade, which broke out with new fury as the battalions pre- 
pared to march. When each column arrived at the allotted point, it spread the gallant 
array of its glittering warriors under a bright sun. 

" It is a glorious spectacle," murmured the graceful chieftain by the side of Lionel, 
keenly alive to all the poetry of his alluring profession ; "■ how exceeding soldier-like ! 
and with what accuracy his ' first-arm ascends the hill,' toward his enemy !" 

The intensity of his feelings prevented Major Lincoln from replying, and the other 
soon forgot that he had spoken, in the overwhelming anxiety of the moment. The ad- 
vance of the British line, so beautiful and slow% resembled rather the ordered steadiness 
of a drill, than an approach to a deadly struggle. Their standards lluttered proudly 
above them ; and there were moments when the wild music of their bands was heard 
rising on the air, and tempering the ruder sounds of the artillery. The young and 
thoughtless in their ranks turned tlieir faces backward, and smiled exultingly, as 
they beheld steejiles, roofs, masts, and heights, teeming with their thousands of eyes, 
bent on the show of their bright array. As the British lines moved in open view of 
the little redoubt, and began slowly to gather around its different faces, gun after 
gun became silent, and the curious artillerist, or tired seaman, lay extended on his 
heated piece, gazing in mute wonder at the spectacle. There was just then a minute 
15 



114 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

when the roar of the cannonade seemed passing away Hke the rumbling of distant 
thunder. 

" They -will not fight, Lincohi," said the animated leader at the side of Lionel — 
" the military front of Howe has chilled the hearts of the knaves, and our victory will 
be bloodless !" 

" We shall see, sir — we shall see !" 

The words were barely uttered, when platoon after platoon, among the British dc- 
liverfed its fire, the blaze of musketry flashing swiftly around the brow of the hill, and 
was immediately followed by heavy volleys that ascended from the orchard. Still no 
answering sound was heard from the Americans, and the royal troops were soon lost to 
the eye, as they slowly marched into the white cloud which their own fire had alone 
created. 

" They are cowed, by heavens — the dogs are cowed !" once more cried the gay 
companion of Lionel, " and Howe is within two hundred feet of them, unharmed !" 

At that instant a sheet of flame glanced through the smoke, like lightning playing in 
a cloud, while at one report a thousand muskets were added to the uproar. It was not 
altogether flmcy which led Lionel to imagine that he saw the smoky canopy of the hill 
to wave, as if the trained warriors it en^■eloped faltered before this close and appalling 
discharge ; but, in another instant, the stimulating war-cry, and the loud shouts of the 
combatants were borne across the strait to his cars even amid the horrid din of the com- 
bat. Ten breathless minutes flew by like a moment of time, and the bewildered spec- 
tators on Copp's were still gazing intently on the scene, when a voice was raised 
among them, shouting — 

" Hurrah ! let the rake-hellies go up to Breed's ; the people will teach 'em the 
law!" 

" Throw the rebel scoundrel from the hill ! Blow him from the muzzle of a gun !" 
cried twenty soldiers in a breath. 

" Hold !" exclaimed Lionel — " 'tis a simpleton, an idiot, a fool !" 

But the angry and savage murmurs as quickly subsided, and were lost in other 
feelings, as the bright red lines of the royal troops were seen issuing from the smoke, 
waving and recoiling before the still vivid fire of their enemies. 

" Ha !" said Burgoyne — " 'tis some feint to draw the rebels from their hold !" 

" 'Tis a i^alpable and disgraceful retreat !" muttered the stern warrior nigh him, 
whose truer eye detected at a glance the discomfiture of the assailants. — " 'Tis an- 
other base retreat before the rebels!" 

" Hurrah !" shouted the reckless changeling again ; there come the reg'lars out of 
the orchard too ! — see the grannies skulking behind the kihis ! Let them go on to 
Breed's ; the people will teach 'em the law !" 

No cry of vengeance preceded the act this time, but fifty of the soldiery, rushed 
as by a common impulse, on their prey. Lionel had not time to utter a word of 



THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. 115 

remonstrance, before Job appeared in the air, borne on the uplifted arms of a dozen 
men, and at the next instant he was seen rolling down the steep declivity, with a 
velocity that carried him to the water's edge. Springing to his feet, the undaunted 
changeling once more waved his hat in triumph, and shouted forth agahi his offensive 
challenge. Then turning, ho launched his canoe from its hiding place anions^ the adja' 
cent lumber, amid a shower of stones, and glided across the strait ; his little bark es- 
caping unnoticed in the crowd of boats that were rowing in all directions. But his 
progress was watched by the uneasy eye of Lionel, who saw him laud and disappear, 
with hasty steps, in the sUent streets of the town. 

While this trifling by-play wjs enacting, the great drama of the day was not at a 
stand. The smoky veil, wliich clung around the brow of the eminence, was lifted by 
the air, and sailed heavily away to the south-west, leaving the scene of the bloody 
struggle again open to the view. Lionel witnessed the grave and meaning glances 
which the two lieutenants of the king exchanged as they simultaneously turned their 
glasses from the fatal spot, and, taking the one proffered by Burgoyne, he read their 
explanation in the numbers of the dead that lay i)rofusely scattered in front of the re- 
doubt. At this instant, an officer from the field held an earnest communication with 
the two leaders ; when, having delivered his orders, he hastened back to his boat, like 
one who felt himself employed in matters of life and death. 

" It shall be done, sir," repeated Clinton, as the other departed, his own honest brow 
sternly knit under high martial excitement. — " The artillery have their orders, and the 
work will be accomplished without delay." 

"This, Major Lincoln!" cried his more sophisticated companion, "this is one of the 
trying duties of the soldier ! To fight, to bleed, or even to die, for his prince, is his 
happy privilege ; but it is sometimes his unfortunate lot to become the instrument of 
vengeance." 

Lionel waited but a moment for an explanation — the flaming balls were soon seen 
taking their wide circuit into the air, and carrying their desolation among the close and 
inflammable roofs of the ojiposite town. In a very few minutes, a dense black smoke 
arose from the deserted buildings, and forked flames played actively along the heated 
shingles, as though rioting in their unmolested possession of the place. lie regarded 
the gathering destruction in painful silence ; and, on bending his looks toward his com- 
panions, he fancied, notwithstanding the language of the other, that he read the deepest 
regret in the averted eye of him who had so unliesitatingly uttered the fatal mandate 
to destroy. 

In scenes like these we are attempting to describe, hours appear to be minutes, and 
time flies as imperceptibly as life slides from beneath the feet of age. The dis- 
ordered ranks of the British had been arrested at the base of the hill, and were again 
forming under the eyes of their leaders, with admirable discipline, and extraordinary 
care. Fresh battalions, from Boston, marched with high military pride into the line, and 



llg PAGES AND PICTURES. 

every thing betokened that a second assault was at hand. When the moment of 
stupid amazement, which succeeded the retreat of the royal troops, had passed, the 
troops and batteries poured out their wrath with tenfold fury on their enemies. Shot 
were incessantly glancing up the gentle acclivity, madly ploughing across its grassy sur- 
face, while black and threatening shells appeared to hover above the work, like the 
monsters of the air, about to stoop ujion their jirey. 

Still all lay quiet and immovable within the low mounds of earth, as if none there 
had a stake in the issue of the bloody day. For a few moments only, the tall figure of 
an aged man was seen slo^\ly moving along the summit of the i-ampart, calmly regard- 
in"' the dispositions of the English general in the more distant part of his line, and after 
exchanging a few words with a gentleman, who joined him in his dangerous look-out, 
they disapi>eared together behind the grassy banks. Lionel soon detected the name of 
Prescott of Pepperel, passing through the crowd in low murmurs, and his glass did not 
deceive him when he thought, in the smaller one of the two, he had himself descried 
the graceful person of the unknown leader of the 'caucus.' 

All eves were now watchhig the advance of the battalions, which once more drew 
nio-h the ])oint of contest. The heads of the columns were already in view of their ene- 
mies, when a man was seen swiftly ascending the hill from the luu-ning town : he paused 
amid the peril, on the natural glacis, and swung his hat trium])hantly, and Lionel even 
fancied he heard the exulting cry, as he recognized the ungainly form of the simpleton, 
before it plunged into the work. 

The right of the British once more disappeared in the orchar<l, and the columns in 
front of the redoubt again opened with all the imposing exactness of their high disci- 
pline. Their arms were already glittering in a line with the green faces of the mound, 
and Lionel heard the experienced warrior at his side murmuring to himself — 

"Let him hold his fire, and he will go in at the point of the bayonet !"' 

But the trial was too great for even the practised courage of the royal troops. 
Volley succeeded volley, and in a few moments they had agaiti curtained their ranks 
behind the misty screen produced by their own fire. Then came the terrible flash from 
the redoubt, and the eddying volumes from the adverse hosts rolled into one cloud, 
enveloping the combatants in its folds, as if to conceal their bloody work from the 
spectators. Twenty times, in the short space of as many minutes, Major Lincoln 
fancied he heard the incessant roll of the American musketry die away before the 
heavy and regular volleys of the troops ; and then he thought the sounds of the latter 
grew more faint, and were given at longer intervals. 

The result however, was soon known. The heavy bank of smoke, which now even 
clunf along the ground, was broken in fifty places ; and the disordered masses of the 
British were seen driven before their deliberate foes, in wild confusion. The flashing 
swords of the officers in vain attempted to arrest the torrent, nor did the fight cease? 
with many of the regiments, until they had even reached their boats. At this moment 



THE BATTLE OF BDNKER HILL. 117 

a hum was heard in Boston, like a sudden rush of wind, and men gazed in each other's 
faces witli undisguised amazement. Here and there a low sound of exultation escaped 
some unguarded li]i, and many an eye gleamed with a triumph that could no longer be 
suppressed. Until this moment the feelings of Lionel had vacillated between the pride 
of country and military spirit ; but, losing all other feelings in the latter sensation, he 
now looked fiercely about him, as if he would seek the man who dare exult in the re- 
pulse of his comrades. The jioetic chieftain was still at his side, biting his nether lip in 
vexation ; but liis more tried companion hail suddenly disappeared. Another quick 
glance fell upon his missing form in the act of entering a boat at the foot of the hill. 
Quicker than thought, Lionel was on the shore, crying, as he flew to the water's edge — 

" Hold ! for God's sake, hold! remember the -ITth is in the field, and that I am its 
major !" 

" Receive him," said Clinton, with that grim satisfaction, with which men acknowl- 
edge a valued friend in moments of great trial; "and then row for your lives, or, what 
is of more value, for the honor of the British name." 

The brahi of Lionel wMrled as the boat shot along its watery bed, but before it 
had gained the middle of the stream he had time to consider the whole of the appall- 
ing scene. The fire had spread from house to house, and the whole village of 
Charlestown, with its four hundred Ijuildings, was just bursting into flames. The air 
seemed filled with whistling balls, as they hurtled above his head, and the black sides 
of the vessels of war were vomiting their sheets of flame with unwearied industry. 
Amid this tumult, the English general and his companions spriuig to land. The former 
rushed into the disordered ranks, and, by his presence and voice, recalled the men of 
one regiment to their duty. But long and loud appeals to their spirit and their ancient 
fame were necessary, to restore a moiety of their former confidence to men who had 
been thus rudely repulsed, and who now looked along their thinned and exhausted 
ranks, missing, in many instances, more than half the well-known countenances of their 
fellows. In the midst of the faltering troojis stood their stern and unbending chief; 
but of all those gay and gallant youths, who followed in his train as he had departed 
from Province-House that morning, not one remained, but in his blood. He alone 
seemed undisturbed in that disordered crowd ; and his mandates went forth as usual, 
calm and determined. At length the jianic in some degree subsided, and order was 
once more restored, as the high-spirited and mortified gentlemen of the detachment 
regained their lost authority. 

The leaders consulted together, apart, and the dispositions were immediately re- 
newed for the assault. Slilitary show was no longer afiected, but the soldiers laid down 
all the useless implements of their trade, and many even cast aside their outer garments, 
under the warmth of a broiling sun, added to the heat of the conflagration, which 
began to diffuse itself along the ex;tremity of the peninsula. Fresh companies were 
placed in the colunms, and most of the troops were withdrawn from the meadows, 



118 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



leaving merely a few skirmisliers, to amuse the Americans Avho lay behind the fence. 
When each disposition was completed, the iinal signal was given to advance. 

Lionel had taken post in his regiment, but marching on the skirt of the column, he 
commanded a view of most of the scene of battle. In his front moved a battalion, re- 
duced to a handful of men in the previous assaults. Behind these came a party of the 
marine guards, from the shipping, led by their own veteran major; and next followed 
the dejected Nesbitt and his corps, among whom Lionel looked in vain for the features 
of the good-natured Polwarth. Similar colunms marched on their right and left, encir- 
cling three sides of the redoubt by their battalions. 

A few minutes brought him in full view of that humble and unfinished mound of 
earth, for the possession of which so much blood had that day been spilt in vain. It 
lay, as before, still as if none breathed within its bosom, though a terrific row of dark 
tubes were arrayed along its top, following the movements of the approaching columns, 
as the eyes of the imaginary charmers of our own wilderness are said to watch their 
■\ictims. As the uproar of the artillery again grew fliinter, the crash of falling streets, 
and the appalling sounds of the conflagration, on their left, became more audible. 
ImniiMi^ volumes of black smoke issued from the smouldering ruins, and, bellying 
outward, fold beyond fold, it overhung the work in a hideous cloud, casting its gloomy 
shadow across the place of blood. 

A strong column was now seen ascending, as if from out the burning town, and 
the advance of the whole became quick and spirited. A low call ran through the 
platoons, to note the naked weapons of their adversaries, and it was followed by the 
cry of " To the b.ayonet ! to the bayonet !" 

" Hurrah for the Royal Irish !" shouted M'Fuse, at the head of the dark column 
from the conflagration. 

" Hurrah !" echoed a well-known voice from the silent mound ; " let them come on 
to Breed's ; the people will teach 'em the law !'' 

Men think at such moments with the rapidity of lightning, and Lionel had even 
fancied his comrades in possession of the work, when the terrible stream of fire flashed 
in the faces of the men in front. 

" Push on with the th," cried the veteran major of marines — " push on, or the 

18th will get the honor of the day !" 

" We cannot," munnured the soldiers of the th ; " their fire is too heavy !" 

"Then bre.ak, and let the marines pass through you I" 

The feeble battalion melted away, and the warriors of the deep, trained to conflicts 
of hand to hand, sprang forward, with a loud shout, in their places. The Americans, 
exhausted of their amnnuiition, now sunk sullenly back, a few hurling stones at their 
foes, in desperate hidignation. The cannon of the British had been brought to enfilade 
their short breast-work, which was no longer tenable ; and as the columns approached 
closer to the low rampart, it became a mutual protection to the adverse parties. 



THE BATTLK OF BUNKER HILL, 119 

"Hurrah for the Royal Irish!" again shouted M'Fuse, rushing up the trifling 
ascent, which was but of little more than his own height. 

" Hurrah !" repeated Pitcairn, waving his swonl on another angle of the work — 
" the day's our own !" 

One more sheet of flame issued out of the bosont of the work, and all those brave 
men, who had emulated the examples of their officers, were swept away, as though a 
whirlwind had ]>assed along. The grenadier gave his war-cry once more, before he 
pitched headlong among his enemies ; while Pitcairn fell back into the arms of his 
own child. The cry of "Forward, 47th," riuig through their ranks, and in their turn 
this veteran battalion gallantly mounted tlie ramparts. In the shallow ditch Lionel 
passed the expiring marine, and caught the dying and despairing look from his eyes, 
and in another instant he founil himself in the presence of his foes. As company fol- 
lowed company into the defenceless redoubt, th.e Americans sullenly retired by its 
rear, keeping the bayonets of the soldiers at bay with clubbed muskets and sinewy 
arms. Wlien the whole issued upon the open ground, the husbandmen received a 
close and ftital fire from the battalions, which were now gathering around them on 
three sides. A scene of wild and savage confusion then succeeded to the order of the 
fight, and many flxtal blows were given and taken, the melee rendering the use of fire- 
arms nearly impossible for several minutes. 

Lionel continued in advance, pressing on the footsteps of the retiring foe, stepping 
over many a lifeless body in his difficult progress. Xotwithstanding the hurry, and 
vast disorder of the fray, his eye fell on the form of the graceful stranger, stretched 
lifeless on the parched grass, which had greedily drank his blood. Amid the ferocious 
cries, and fiercer passions of the moment, the young man paused, and glanced his eyes 
around him, with an expression that said he thought the work of death should cease. 
At this instant the trappings of his attire caught the glaring eyeballs of a dying 
yeoman, who exerted liis wasting strength to sacrifice one more worthy victim to the 
manes of his countrymen. The whole of the tumultuous scene vanished from the 
senses of Lionel at the flash of the musket of this man, and he sunk beneath the feet 
of the combatants, insensible of further triumph, and of every danger. 

The fall of a single officer, in such a contest, was a circumstance not to be regarded ; 
and regiments passed over him without a single man stooping to inquire into his fate. 
When the Americans had disengaged themselves from the troops, they descended 
into the little hollow between the two hills, swiftly, and like a disordered crowd, 
bearing off most of their wounded, and leaving but few prisoners in the hands of their 
foes. The formation of the ground favored their retreat, as hundreds of bullets 
whistled harmlessly above their heads ; and by the time they gained the acclivity 
of Bunker, distance was added to their security. Finding the field lost, the men at 
the fence broke away in a body from their position, and abandoned the meadows ; the 
whole moving in confused masses behind the crest of the adjacent height. The 



120 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



shouting soldiery followed in their footsteps, pouring in fruitless and distant volleys ; 
but on the summit of Bunker their tired platoons were halted, and they beheld the 
throng move fearlessly through the tremendous fire that enfiladed the low pass, as 
little injured as thougli most of them bore charmed lives. 

The day was now drawing to a close. With the disappearance of their enemies, 
the ships and batteries ceased their cannonade ; and presently not a musket was heard 
in that place, where so fierce a contest had so long raged. The troops commenced 
fortifying tlie outward eminence, on which they rested, in order to maintain tlieir 
barren conquest ; and nothing further remained for the achievement of the royal lieu- 
tenants, but to go and mourn over their victory. 




121 




VI. 



THE MOHICANS. 



In the summer of 1825, a travelling party of some half-dozen gentlemen left 
New York with the intention of making an excursion to Saratoga and Lake 
George. Of this party Mr. Cooper was one. Several young Englishmen of note 
were among his companions, all of whom, at a later period, became prominent in 
public life as members of the British government. Those were happy days for 
travellers — ere the shrill steam-whistle had been heard, startling the quiet flocks 
in rural fields ; tradition tells, us that it was j^ossible at that period to move 
leisurely, actually to find pleasure in travelling itself, to feel a sense of enjoyment 
in moving over a road^ from one point to another, to see clearly, to breathe freely 
— a state of things extremely difiieult to comprehend, when, captives in a close and 
crowded car, we are whirling at the will of a desperate locomotive. A day could 
then be given to a river shore and its varied beauties, to an inland valley and its 
quiet repose ; while, at the present moment, we are condemned to rush blindly, 
over the same ground, in an atmosphere of smoke and dust, at the speed of a 
steeple-chase, and with the constraint of a German "Par-force Jagd!" Tlie 
excursion proved a very pleasant one. Parts of the ground were new to Mr. 
Cooper, whose eye for natural scenery was delicate and sensitive as that of a 
poet, while his interest in every thing practical, in all true progress, was as 
thoi-ough and comprehensive as that of any plodding utilitarian. The con- 
versation of a party of highly-educated young men, with European views of 
things, naturally gave additional interest to the journey. Mr. Cooper was much 
struck with a remark on the size of the forest-trees of America^ smaller than was 
16 



122 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

anticipated, scarcely equal in size, it was asserted, to those of the older jiarks, and 
church-yards and village greens of England. One is scarcely prepared indeed 
for this result of civilization ; we should rather have believed that the pride of 
the forests would naturally reveal itself in grander forms within the hounds of the 
wilderness — that the fostering care of man could do little for the woods. Such 
was then, the usT;al American idea on this subject; but we are beginning, it is 
hoped, to learn another lesson, to discover that the forests and groves are one of 
the higher forms of husbandry. As yet, in America, man has done absolutely 
nothing to improve, and much to mar, this great gift of Providence. 

A conversation occurring at the time, in connection with a very diiferent sub- 
ject, may be alluded to. It relates to a point c(tnnected with that singular frag- 
ment of feudal ages, the framework of English society ; to a point of legal pre- 
cedence in rank, among the English peers — as to which of the House of Peers 
could claim to be premier baron of England. Mr. Cooper, unless the writer's 
memory is deceived, asserted that it was Howard, Duke of Norfolk, as Baron 
Fitzalan, who held this rank. Another peer was named by the gentleman with 
whom he was conversing ; each was confident as to his own view, and a wager 
was laid on the subject. Returning to New York, inquiry proved that the noble- 
man named by Mr. Cooper actually held the rank of premier baron of England, 
and the author received, as a memento of the discussion, a seal with a baron's 
coronet for the device, and for inscription, the old Scottish proverb, '• lie that 
will to Cuj)ar, maun to Cupar!" Some years earlier Mr. Cooper had amused 
himself with a course of I'eading in English biography and heraldry, which gave 
him confidence in the correctness of the opinion he had expressed. 

The party moved slowly up the Hudson, halting in the Highlands at ^^est 
Point ; thence to Catskill, which Mr. Cooper had already seen with delight, a few 
years earlier, as Natty can testify : 

" ' It must have been a sight of melancholy pleasure, indeed,' said Edwards, 
while his eye roved along the shores and over the hills, where the clearings, 
groaning witli tlie golden corn, were cheering the forests with the signs of life, 
'to have roamed over these mountains, and along this sheet of beautiful water, 
without a living soul to speak to, or to thwart your humor.' 

" ' Haven't I said it was a cheerful !' said Leathei'-Stocking. ' Yes, yes — when 
the trees begun to be kivered with the leaves, and tlie ice was out of the lake, it 
was a second paradise. I have travelled the woods for fifty-three years, and have 
made them my home for more than forty, and I can say that I have met but one 
place that was more to my liking ; and that was only to eyesight, and not for 
hunting or fishing.' 



i 



THE MOHICANS. 123 

" ' And -wliere -was that V asked Edwards. 

*' 'Where ! why up on the Catskills. I used often to go up into the mountains 
after wolves' skins, and bears ; once they bought me to get them a stuft'ed painter ; 
and so I often went. There's a phice in them hills that I used to climb to when 
I wanted to see the carryings-on of tlie world, tliat would well pay any man for 
a barked shin or a torn moccasin. You know the Catskills, lad, for you must 
have seen them on your left, as you followed the river up from York, looking as 
blue as a piece of clear sky, and holding the clouds on their tops, as the smoke 
curls over the head of an Indian chief at a council-fire. "Well, there's the High- 
peak and the IJound-top, which lay back, like a father and mother among their 
children, seeing they are far above all the other hills. But the place I mean is 
next to the river, where cue of the ridges juts out a little from the rest, and where 
the rocks fall for the best part of a thousand feet, so much up and down, that a 
man standing on their edges is fool enough to think he can jump from top to 
bottom.' 

" ' What see you when you get there V asked Edwards. 

"'Creation!' said Natty, dropping the end of his rod into tlie water, and 
sweeping one hand around him in a circle—-" all creation, lad. I was on that 
hill when Yaughan burnt 'Sopus, in the last war, and I seen the vessels come out 
of the Highlands as plain as I can see that lime-scow rowing into the Susque- 
hanna, thougli one was twenty times further from me than the other. Tlie river 
was in sight for seventy miles, imder my feet, looking like a curled shaving, 
though it was eight long miles to its banks. I saw the hills in the Hampshire 
grants, the high lands of the river, and all that God had done or man coidd do, 
as far as eye could reach — you know that the Indians named me for my sight, 
lad — and from the flat on the top of that mountain, I have often found the place 
where Albany stands ; and as for 'Sojuis I the day the royal troops burnt the 
town, the smoke seemed so nigh, that I thought I could hear the sci-eeches of the 
women.' 

" 'It must have been worth the toil, to meet with such a glorious view!' 

" ' If being the best part of a mile in the air, and having men's farms and 
housen at your feet, with rivers looking like ribbons, and mountains bigger than 
the ' Yision,' seeming to be liaystacks of green grass under you, gives any satis- 
faction to a man, I can recommend the spot. When I first come into the woods 
to live, I used to have weak spells, and I felt lonesome ; and then I would go into 
the Catskills and spend a few days on that hill, to look at the ways of man ; but 
it's now many a year since I felt any such longings, and I'm getting too old for 
them rugged rocks. But there's a place, a short two miles back of that very hill, 



124 PAGES AND PICTURES 

that in late times I relished better than the nionntaiu ; for it was more kivered 
with the trees, and more nateral.' 

'■ 'And where was that?' inquired Edwards, whose curiosity was strongly ex- 
cited by the simple description of the hunter. 

" 'Why, there's a fall in the hills, where the water of two little ponds that lie 
near each other breaks out of their bounds, and runs over the rocks into the 
valley. The stream is, maybe, such a one as woidd turn a mill, if so useless a 
thing was wanted in the wilderness. But the hand that made that ' Leap' never 
made a mill ! There the water comes crooking and winding among the rocks, 
first so slow that a trout could swim in it, and then starting and running just like 
any creater that wanted to make a far spring, till it gets to where the mountain 
divides, like the cleft hoof of a deer, leaving a deep hollow for the brook to 
tundjle into. The first pitch is nigh two hundred feet, and the water looks like 
flakes of driven snow, afore it touches the bottom ; and there the stream gathers 
itself together again for a new start, and maybe flutters over fifty feet of flat- 
rock, before it falls for another hundred, when it jumps about from shelf to shelf, 
first turning this-away, and then turning that-away, striving to get out of the 
hollow, till it finally comes to the plain.' 

" ' I have never heard of this spot before !" exclaimed Edwards ; ' it is not 
mentioned in the books.' 

" ' 1 never read a book in my life,' said Leather-Stocking ; ' and how should a 
man who has lived in towns and schools know any thing about the wonders of the 
woods ! No, no, lad ; there has that little stream of water been playing among 
them hills, since Lie made the world, and not a dozen white men have ever laid 
eyes on it. The rock sweeps like mason-work, in a half-round, on both sides of 
the fall, and shelves over the bottom for fifty feet ; so that when I've been sitting 
at the foot of the first pitch, and my hounds have run into the caverns behind 
the sheet of water, they've looked no bigger than so many i-abbits. To my judg- 
ment, lad, it's the best piece of work that I've met with in the woods ; and none 
know how often the hand of God is seen in a wilderness biit them that rove it 
for a man's life.' 

" '"What becomes of the water? — in which direction does it riui? Is it a tribu- 
tary of the Delaware V 

" ' Anan !' said Natty. 

" ' Does the water run into the Delaware ?', 

" ' No, no ; it's a drop for the old Hudson ; and a meiTy time it has till it gets 
down off the mountain. I've sat on the shelving rock many a long hour, boy, 
and watched the buljbles as they shot by me, and thought how long it would be 



THE MOHICANS. 



125 



before that very water, wliicli seemed made for the wilderness, would ho under 
the bottom of a vessel, and tossing in the salt sea. It is a spot to make a man 
solemnize. You can see right down into the valley that lies to the east of the 
Higli-Peak, where, in the fall of tlie year, thousands of acres of woods are before 
your eyes, in the deej) hollow, and along the side of the mountain, painted like 
ten thousand i-aiiihows, by no hand of man, but with tlie ordering of God's 
providence.' 

" ' Why, you are eloquent, Leather-Stocking,' exclaimed the youth. 

" ' Anan !' repeated Natty. 

" ' The recollection of the sight has warmed your blood, old man.' " 




Farther up the river, the poor deluded Shakers were visited, and beheld with 
compassion in their beautiful valley and neat Aillage at Lebanon. Good dinners 
were eaten at hospitable tables in An.)any. Tlie Cohoes, formerly a favorite spot 
with the writer, were seen and still admired, in spite of the busy mills sjn-inging 
up on their banks. Tlie gentlemen mingled awhile with the gay throng at Sara- 
toga and Ballston. Thence they passed to Lake George and Glemi's Falls. There 
the groimd was qiiite new to the American as well as to the European members 
of the party. With Lake George, still so freshly wild in its wooded heights, its 
untilled islands, its crystal waters, its silent shores, the author was greatly charmed. 
After lingering awhile on its banks with delight, the i^arty retraced their steps, 
pausing, like others, at Glenn's Falls. The hand of man had already been busy 
here, turning the power of tlie stream to account for industrial purposes, but there 



J26 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

was fill- more of natural beauty still t-linging about the spot tliau at the present 
hour, and the singular character of the dark and silent caverns in the heart of the 
troubled stream \vas then very impressive. The travellers were much struck with 
those dark and sombre rocks, and the flood falling in fantastic wreaths of foam 
about them. While in the caverns, one of the gentlemen of the party observed to 
Mr. Cooper that here was the very scene for a romance. Some pleasantry passed 
between them on the subject, and the writer promised his companion, that a 
book should actually be written in which these caves shoidd hold an important 
place; and the idea of a ronuxnce, essentially Indian in character, then first 
suggested itself to his mind. The gentleman to whom the promise was given has 
since been prime minister of England. Before leaving the falls, the ground was 
examined closely, with a view to accurate description at a later hour. The actual 
natural features of the spot were condjined in imagination with those which had 
been partially defaced by man : the ancient forests were again restored, the first 
rude and unfinished steps of early civilization disappeared, and the waters fell 
once more, as they had fallen for thousands of forgotten years, in full, natural 
torrents, unchecked by any barrier raised by liuman labor. In the tale which 
was soon after written, the reader, with a beautiful touch of poetical instinct, is 
led to those wild caverns, through the imbroken forest, in con.ipany with the 
backwoodsman and the savage, in a moment of peril, and in the dark hours of 
night. Natty's picture of the spot, given to his wondering companions, seeking 
shelter within the caves, of which they had still l)ut a vague impression, is offered 
to the reader. 

" When the voice of Hawk-eye ceased, the r(jar of the cataract sounded like 
the roar of distant thunder. 

" ' Are we c^uite safe in this cavern ?' demanded Heyward. ' Is there no 
danger of surprise? A single armed man, at its entrance, would hold us at his 
mercy.' 

" A spectral-looking figure stalked from out the darkness behind the scout, and, 
seizing a l^lazing brand, held it toward the further extremity of their place of re- 
treat. Alice littered a faint shriek, and even Cora rose to her feet, as this appall- 
ing object moved into the light; but a single word from Heyward calmed them, 
with the assurance it was only their attendant. Chingachgook, who, lifting an- 
other blanket, discovered that the cavern had two outlets. Then, holding the 
brand, he crossed a deep, narrow chasm in the rocks, which ran at right angles 
with the passage they were in, but -which, unlike that, was open to the heavens, 
entering another cave, which answered to the description of the first, in every 
essential particular. 



THE MOHICANS. 127 

" ' Such okl foxes as Chiiigacligook aud myself arc not often caught in a burrow 
with one Iiole,' said Hawk-eye, laughing ; ' you can easily see the cunning of the 
place— the rock is black limestone, which every body knows is soft; it makes no 
uncomfortable pillow, Avhere brush and pine-wood are scarce ; well, the fall was 
once a few yards below ns, and, I dare to say, was, in its time, as regular and hand- 
some a sheet of water as any along the Hudson. But old age is a great injury to 
good looks, as these sweet young ladies have yet to learn. The j^lace is sadly 
changed ! Those rocks are full of cracks, and in some places they are softer than 
in other some, and the water has worked out deep hollows for itself, until it has 
fallen back, aye, some hundred feet, breaking here, and wearing there, until the 
falls have neither shape nor consistency.' 

" ' In what part of them are we ?' asked Ileyward. 

" 'Why, we are nigh the spot that Providence first placed them at, liut where, 
it seems, they were too rebellious to stay. The rock proved softer on each side 
of us, and so they left the centre of the river bare and dry, first working out 
these two little holes for us to hide in.' 

" ' We are, then, on an island V 

" ' Aye ! There are falls on two sides of ns, and the river above and below ! 
If you had daylight, it woidd be wortli the trouble to step up on the height of this 
rock, and look at the pervarcity of the water. It falls by no rule at all ; sometimes 
it leaps ; sometimes it tumbles ; there it tumbles, here it shoots ; in one place 'tis 
white as snow, and in another 'tis green as grass ; hereabouts, it jiitches into deep 
hollows, that rumble and rpiake the 'arth ; and there-away, it ripples and sings 
like a brook, fashioning whirlpools aud gulleys in the old stone, as if 'twas no 
harder than trodden clay. The whole design of the river seems disconcerted. First 
it runs smoothly, as if meaning to go down the descent as things were ordered ; 
then it angles about and faces the shore ; nor are there places wanting where it 
looks backward, as if unwilling to leave the wilderness and mingle with the salt! 
Aye, lady, the fine cobweb-looking cloth you wear at your throat is coarse and like 
a fish-net to little spots I can show you where the river fabricates all sorts of im- 
ages, as if, having broken loose from order, it would try its hand at every thing. 
And yet, what does it amount to ! After the water has been sufiercd to have its 
will, for a time, like a headstrong man, it is gathered together by the hand that 
made it, and a few rods below you may see it all flowing on steadily toward the 
sea, as was preordained from the first foundation of the 'arth !' " 

Returning home, the book was immediately commenced. It was very rapidly 
written, and some three or four months from the time its first pages were com- 
posed, the last cliapter was finished. Planned beneath the summer leaves, those 



128 



PAGES AND PICTURKS. 




leaves had scarcely fallen when the story was told, and I^atty and Chingachgook 
were left in the wilderness, heside tlie rnde grave of Uncas. It was with some 
hesitation that the writer attempted, what has always been considered as a dan- 
gerous experiment, the introduction for a second time of a prominent and success- 
ful character already familial" to the reader, in an earlier book. It was very seldom, 
however, that he now consulted with any friend but one, regarding the work in 
hand ; and the affectionate counsellor at his side, well aware that the conscious- 
ness of power might, in itself, render practicable a task in which so much interest 
was shown, advised his caiTying out the plan. Tlie step was taken, and Natty 
and Chingachgook were once more brought before the reader ; but at a period 
supposed to be earlier in their own career than that of the Pioneers, and beneath 
the shadow of the unbroken forest. 

Although the book was very rapidly written, yet during its progress — soon 
after commencing it, indeed— the writer was seized with a serious illness. Natu- 
rally of a very sound and vigorous constitution, he had scarcely known imtil lately 
what a day'a physical ailing was. But a year or two earlier, while returning from 
a visit to Bedford, the carriage he was driving broke down at one of the villages 
on the Sound, and, always glad of an excuse for being afloat, he took passage for 
New York in a sloop. The wind began to fail ; he was anxious to reach home, 
and, in order to make the utmost of tlie tide, lie took tlie helm, steering the little 
craft himself through Hell-Gate ; the day was extremely sultry, and exposure to 
the intense heat brought on a sudden and severe attack of fever, which in its lirst 
hours partook something of the character of a stroke of the sim. And now, in 
the autumn of 1825, exposure again brought on the same disease. During the 
height of the attack, his mind was filled with images connected with the book 
recently begiin. One afternoon, suddenly rousing himself, he called for pen and 
paper ; but, too ill to use them himself, he requested Mrs. Cooper, watching 
anxiously at his side, to write to his dictation. Most relvictantly, and in fear of 
delirium, the request was complied with, and solely with a view of relieving his 



TUE MOHICANS. 



129 



mind from temporary excitemuut. A page of notes was rapidly dictated, and 
written out; to his alarmed nurse they appeared the wild incoherent fancies of 
delirium, with which the names of Natty, Chingachgook, and Cora, already 
familiar to her, were blended. But in truth there was no delirium ; a clear and 
vivid picture of the struggle between Magna and Chingachgook filled his mind 
at the moment, and only a few weeks later the chapter — the twelfth of the book 
— was actually written from that rude sketch. And this proved to be one of the 
very few instances in which preliminary notes relating to a work in hand were 
thrown on paper. At the same period he was visited by his old college tutor and 
kind friend. Professor Silliman, who left the house with some serioiis fears as to 
the result of the attack. By the mercy of Providence, however, he soon recovered 
from all immediate danger ; though for several years he suifered from the con- 
sequences of the disease by a form of nervous dyspepsia, previously imknown to 
him. 

Early in the winter of 1826, " The Last of the Mohicans" was published, by 
Messrs. Carey & Lea, of Philadelphia. Its success was greater than that of any 
previous book from the same jx-'u. The freshness of the subject gave it a singu- 
lar charm, while the rapid succession of spirited incident, entirely original in 
character, and the powerful interest infused into the whole work, commanded 
attention in a very unusual degree. ISTatty was greeted anew with delight ; there 
could be no doubt as to the success of the experiment of presenting him a 
second time to the reader. The character was sketched even more foix-ibly, 
though with less of poetical light, perhaps, than in the first book. It was the, 
difference between vin;orous manhood and veneralde asre. And instead of the 
single Indian, in the person of Chingachgook, warrior after warrior appears, until 
the scene is filled with numerous war-parties, and the villages of contending 
tribes. The writer had been at pains to obtain accurate details regarding Indian 
life and character, although the sources of information open to him at that day 
were very few indeed, compared with those which he might have conunanded at 
the present hour ; the earlier writers on those subjects, II eckwelder, Charlevoix, 
Penn, Smith, Elliot, Colden, were studied. Tlie narratives of Lang, of Lewis 
and Clarke, of Mackenzie, were examined. His own opportunities of intercourse 
with the red man had been few ; occasionally some small party of the Oneidas, 
or other representatives of the Five Nations, had crossed his path in the valley 
of the Susquehanna, or on the shores of Lake Ontario, where he served when a 
midshipman in the navy. And more recently, since the idea of introducing these 
wild people into his books had occurred to him, he had been at no little pains to 
seize every opportunity ofi'ered for observation. Fortunately for his purpose, 
17 



130 PAGES AXD PICTURES. 

deputations to Washington from tlie Western tribes, Avere quite frequent at that 
moment ; lie visited these different parties, as they passed through Albany and 
IScw York, following them in several instances to Washington for the purpose of 
closer observation, and with a view also to gathering information from the ofiicers 
and interpreters who accompanied them. From these sources he drew the details 
of his pictures in "The Mohicans." 

In Europe the book produced quite a startling effect ; the freshness of the 
subject, in the sense of fiction, naturally adding greatly to the vivid interest of the 
narrative. As yet, there had been but one American work of the imagination in 
which the red man was introduced with any prominence : " Edgar Huntley," by 
Brockden Brown, a writer of undoubted talent, but scarcely known in England. 
While alluding to his work, it may be well to remark that Mr. Coojier had not 
read " Edgar Huntley" since his own boyhood, when his writing an Indian 
romance himself wi:)uld have seemed an event wildly improbable. Of the books 
of Brockden BroMii, " Weiland" had made the deepest impression on his mind. 
"The Mohicans" would assuredly have been precisely the book it now is had 
" Edgar Huntley" never been written. "The Atala" of M. de Chateaubriand he 
never read ; it was precisely the kind of book in which he would never have felt 
the least interest, quite too far removed from the realities of life for him to read 
more than a page or two. To the particular merits of that kind of book he was 
perhaps scarcely capable of doing justice ; he would have lacked the patience to 
look for them amid pages so little in harmony with his own nature. In reading 
"The Mohicans" for revision, a few years before his death, he observed, Avith a 
smile, that the book must needs have some interest for the reader, since it could 
amuse even the Avriter, who had in a great measure forgotten the details of his 
own work. He saw the defects of the book, however, more plainly perhaps than 
his readers. There were some faults of plot, and other errors of detail which did 
not satisfy him. One defect of the book must strike those who knew him as 
singularly inconsistent with his own character. Munro, as a father placed in 
most painful circumstances, becomes a mere cipher, not only in the earlier scenes, 
but later, when we are following with the deepest anxiety the movements of 
Natty, and Uncas, and Ileyward, intent on the rescue of the sisters ; while the 
scout, and the Inver, and the young warrior, command our eager attention at 
every step, Ave actually forget the jiresence of the parent who accompanies the 
party. Never surely was there a father Avhose love for his children was of a 
deeper, purer, stronger nature than his OAvn ; never Avas there one Avhose daily 
life and manner Avere more demonstrative of the feeling ; the Aveakness of Munro's 
character on this particular point, as draAvn in " The Mohicans," becomes there- 



THE MOHICAN'S. 131 

fore the more reiuarkalik'. On the other hand, may we not assert that Magna, 
the subtle, treacherous, revengeful warrior, is one of the most skilfully drawn of 
his Indian sketches — a creature as thoroughly savage as any that c^■er roamed 
over the same ground, in real existence. 

The name of Jlorican given to the lake was in one sense an application of his 
own ; it was quite as legitimate, however, as that given to the Cayuga and the 
Oneida and the Seneca, farther toward the setting sun. We give the author's 
remarks on this suhj ect : 

" There is one point on -w-hicli we wish to say a word. Hawk-eye calls the Lac 
du St. Sacrement, the 'lioriean.' As we believe this to be an appropriation of 
the name that has its origin with ourselves, the time has arrived, perhaps, when 
the fact should be frankly admitted. While writing this book, it occurred to us 
that the French name of this lake was too complicated, the American too com- 
monplace, and the Indian too unpronounceable, for either to be used familiarly 
in a work of fiction. Looking over an ancient map, it was ascertained that a 
tribe of Indians, called 'les Horicans' by the French, existed in the neigh- 
borhood of this beautiful sheet of water. As every word uttered by Natty was 
not to be understood as rigid truth, we took the liberty of putting 'the Ilorican' 
into his moutii, as the substitute for ' Lake George.' The name has appeared 
to find favor, and, all things considered, it may possibly be quite as well to let it 
stand, instead of going back to the House of Hanover for the appellation of our 
finest sheet of water." 

" The Mohicans" is one of those books to which no single extract can do full 
justice, since it is the rapid succession of original incident, the spirit and poeti- 
cal movement of the whole work whicli make its great merit. The canoe chase 
on the Horican with the Longue Carabine in the foregroimd, is given as a picture 
from its pages. 



132 




CANOE CHASE ON THE HOEICAN. 



The heavens were still studded with stars, when Hawk-eye eanie to arouse the 
sleepers. Casting aside their cloaks, Munro and Ileyward were on their feet, while 
the woodsman Avas still making his low calls at the entrance of the rude shelter where 
they had passed the night. When they issued from beneath its concealment, they 
found the scout awaiting their appearance nigh by, and the only salutation between 
them was the significant gesture for silence, made by their sagacious leader. 

" Think o^-er your prayers," he whispered, as they approached him ; " for he to 
whom you make them knows all tongues ; that of the heart as well as those of the 
mouth. But speak not a syllable ; it is rare for a white voice to jiitch itself properly 
in the woods, as we liaA'c seen by the example of that miserable devil, the singer. 
Come," he continued, turning toward a curtain of the works ; " let us get into the 
ditch on this side, and, be regardful to step on the stones and fragments of wood as 
you go." 

His companions complied, though to one of them the reasons of all this extraor- 
dinary precaution Avere yet a mystery. "When they were in the low cavity that sur- 
rounded the earthen fort on three of its sides, they found the jiassage nearly choked 
by the ruins. With care and patience, however, they succeeded in clambering after 
the scout, until they reached the sandy shore of the Horican. 

"That's a trail that nothing but a nose can follow," said the satisfied scout, looking 
back along their difficult way ; " grass is a treacherous carpet for a flying party to 
tread on, but wood and stone take no print from a moccasin. Had you Avorn your 
armed boots, there might, indeed, haA'e been something to fear ! but with the deer-skin 
suitably prejtared, a man may trust himself, generally, on rocks Avith safety. Shove in 




- lost yriiir*?\n='?i?ht J*fnr»> losmf V'^-r 



NF.W yORK.W^ 



CANOE CHASE ON THE HORICAN. I33 

the canoe nigher to the land, Uucas ; tliis sand will take a stamp as easily as the butter 
of the Dutchers on the Mohawk. Softly, lad, softly; it must not touch the beach, or 
the knaves will know by what road we have left the place." 

The young man obseiwed the precaution ; and the scout, laying a board from the 
ruins to the canoe, made a sign for the two officers to enter. When this was done, 
every thing was studioush' restored to its former disorder ; and then Hawk-eye suc- 
ceeded in reachmg his little birchen vessel, without leaving behind him any of those 
marks which ho appeared so much to dread. Ileyward was silent until the Indians 
had cautiously paddled the candb some distance from the fort, and withm the broad 
and dark shadow that fell from the eastern mountains on the glassy surface of the lake ; 
then he demanded — 

" What need have we for this stolen and hurried departure ?" 

"If the blood of an Oneida could stain such a sheet of pure water as this we float 
on," returned the scout, "your two eyes would answer your own question. Have you 
forgotten the skulking reptyle that Uncas slew ?" 

" By no means. But he was said to be alone, and dead men give no cause for 
fear !" 

"Aye, he was alone in his deviltry ! but an Indian, whose tribe counts so many war- 
riors, need seldom fear his blood will run out, without the death-shriek coming speedily 
from some of his enemies." 

" But our presence — the authority of Colonel Munro would prove a sufficient pro- 
tection against the anger of our allies, especially in a case where the wretch so well 
merited his fate. I trust in Heaven you have not deviated a single foot from the direct 
line of our course, with so slight a reason." 

" Do you think the bullet of that varlet's rifle would have turned aside, though his 
sacred majesty the king had stood in its path I" returned the stubborn scout. " Why 
did not the grand Freneher, he who is captain-general of the Canadas, bury the toma- 
hawks of the Ilurons, if a word from a white man can work so strongly on the natur of 
an Indian ?" 

The reply of Hey ward was interrupted by a deep and heavy groan from ^Nlunro ; 
but after he had paused a moment, in deference to the sorrow of his aged friend, he 
resumed the subject. 

"The Marquis of Montcalm can only settle that error with his God," said the young 
man solemnly. 

''Aye, aye, now there is reason in your words, for they are bottomed on religion 
and honesty. There is a vast difiercnce between throwing a regiment of white coats 
atwixt the tribes and the prisoners, and coaxing an angry savage to forget he carries 
a knife and a rifle, with words that must begin with calling him 'your son.' Xo, no," 
continued the scout, looking back at the dim shore of William Heniy which now ap- 
peared to be fast receding, and laughmg in his own silent but heartfelt manner; "I 



134 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

have put a trail of water atween us ; and unless the imps can make friends with the 
fishes, and hear who has paddled across their basin this fine morning, we shall throw 
the length of the Ilorican hehmd us before they have made vip their minds which path 
to take." 

" With foes in front, and foes in oiir rear, om' journey is like to be one of 
danger!" 

"Danger!" repeated Hawk-eye, cahuly ; 'Mio, not absolutely in danger; for, with 
vigilant ears and quick eyes, we can manage to keep a few hours ahead of the knaves ; 
or, if we must try the rifle, there are three of us who understand its gifts as well as any 
you can name on the borders. No, not of danger ; but that we shall have what you 
may call a brisk push of it, is jjrobable ; and it may happen, a brush, a skrimmage, or 
some such divai'sion, but always where covers are good, and ammunition abundant." 

It is possible that Heyward's estimate of danger, distinguished as he was for spirit, 
differed in some degree from that of tlie scout, for, instead of replying, he now sat in 
silence, while the canoe glided over several miles of water. Just as the day dawned 
they entered the narrows of the lake, and stole swiftly and cautiously among their 
numberless little islands. It was by this road that Montcahn had retired with his army, 
and the adventurers knew not but he had left some of his Indians in ambush, to pro- 
tect the rear of his forces, and collect the stragglers. They therefore approached the 
passage with the customary silence of their guarded liabits. 

Chingachgook laid aside his paddle, while Uncas and the scout urged the hght ves- 
sel through the crooked and intricate channels, where every foot that they advanced 
exposed them to the danger of some sudden rising on their jirogress. The eyes of 
the Sagamore moved warily from islet to islet, and copse to copse, as the canoe pro- 
ceeded ; and when a clear sheet of water permitted, his keen vision was bent along 
the bald rocks and impending forests that frowned upon the narrow strait. 

Heyward, who was a doubly-interested spectator, as well from the beauties of the 
place as from the apprehension natural to his situation, was just believing that he had 
permitted the latter to be excited without sufiicient reason, -when the paddles ceased 
moving, iu obedience to a signal from Chingachgook. 

" Hugh !" exclaimed Uncas, nearly at the moment that the light tap his father had 
made on the side of the canoe, notified them of the vicinity of danger. 

" "What now ?" asked the scout ; " the lake is as smooth as if the winds had never 
blown, and I can see along its sheet for miles ; there is not so much as the black head 
of a loon dotting the water!" 

The Indian gravely raised his paddle, and pointed in the direction in which his own 
steady look was riveted. Duncan's eyes followed the motion. A few rods in their 
front lay another of the low wooded islets, but it appeared as calm and peaceful as if its 
soUtude had never been disturbed by the foot of man. 

"I see nothing," he said, "but Land and water; and a lovely scene it is!" 



CANOE CHASE ON THE H ORIGAN. I35 

"Hist!" interrupted the scout. "Aye, Sagamore, there is always a reason for 
what you do ! 'Tis but a shade, and yet it is not natural. You see the mist, major, 
that is rising above the island ; you can't call it a fog, for it is more like a streak of 
thin cloud" — 

" It is vapor from the water !" 

" That a child could tell. But what is the edging of blacker smoke, that hangs 
along its lower side, and which you may trace down into the thicket of hazel ? 'Tis 
from a fire ; but one that, in my judgment, has been suffered to bui'n low." 

"Let us, then, push for the place, and relieve our doubts," said the impatient 
Duncan ; " the party must be small that can lie on such a bit of land." 

" If you judge of Indian cunning by the rules you find in books, or by white 
sagacity, they will lead you astray, if not to your death," returned Hawk-eye, exam- 
ining the signs of the place with that acuteness which distinguished him. "If I maybe 
permitted to speak in this matter, it will be to say, that we have but two things to 
choose between : the one is, to return, and give up all thoughts of following the 
Hurons"— 

" Never !" exclaimed Hey ward, in a voice far too loud for their circumstances. 

" Well, well," continued Hawk-eye, making a hasty sign to repress his ardor ; " I 
am much of your mind myself; though I thought it becoming my experience to tell 
the whole. AVe must, then, make a push, and if the Indians or Trenchers are in the 
narrows, run the gauntlet through these toppling mountains. Is there reason in my 
words. Sagamore ?" 

The Indian made no other answer than by dropping his paddle into the water, and 
urging forward the canoe. As he held the office of directing its course, his resolution 
was sufficiently indicated by the movement. The whole party now plied their paddles 
vigorously, and in a very few moments they had reached a point whence they might 
command an entire view of the northern shore of the island, the side that had hitherto 
been concealed. 

" There they are, by all the truth of signs !" whispered the scout ; " two canoes and 
a smoke ! The knaves haven't yet got tlu ir eyes out of the mist, or we should hear 
the accursed whoop. Together, friends — we are leaving them, and are already nearly 
out of whistle of a bidlet." 

The well known crack of a rifle, whose ball came skipping along the placid surface 
of the strait, and a shrill yell from the island, interrupted his speech, and announced 
that their passage was discovered. In another instant several savages were seen rush- 
ing into the canoes, which were soon dancing over the water, in swift pursuit. These 
fearful precixrsors of a coming struggle produced no change in the countenances and 
movements of his three guides, so far as Duncan could discover, except that the strokes 
of their paddles were longer and more in unison, and caused the little bark to spring 
forward like a creature possessing life and volition. 



136 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

"Hold tlieia there, Sagamore," said Ilawk-Eye, looking coolly backward over his 
left shoulder, while he still plied his 2)addle ; "keep them just there. Them llurons 
havenever a piece in their nation that will execute at this distance; but ' killdecr' has 
a barrel ou which a man may safely calculate." 

The scout having ascertained that the Mohicans were sufficient of themselves to 
maintain the requisite distance, deliberately laid aside his paddle, and i-aised the fatal 
rifle. Three several times he brought the piece to his shoulder, and when his com- 
panions were expecting its report, he as often lowered it, to request the Indians would 
permit then' enemies to approach a little nigher. At length, his accurate and fastidious 
eye seemed satisfied, and throwing out his left arm on the barrel, he was slowly 
elevating the muzzle, when an exclamation from Uncas, who sat in the bow, once more 
caused him to suspend the shot. 

" "What now, lad ?" demanded Hawk-eye ; " you saved a Huron from the death- 
shriek by that word ; have you reason for what you do ?" 

Uncas pointed toward the rocky shore, a little in their front, whence another war- 
canoe was darting directly across their course. It was too obvious, now, that their 
situation was imminently penlotis, to need the aid of language to confirm it. The scout 
laid aside his rifle, and resumed the paddle, while Chingachgook inclined the bows of 
the canoe a little towaril the \\estern shore, in order to increase the distance between 
them and this new enemy. In the mean time, they were reminded of the presence of 
those who pressed upon their rear, by wild and extilting shouts. The stirring scene 
awakened even Munro from tlic dull apathy into which he was plunged by the weight 
of his misfortunes. 

"Let us make for the rocks on the main," he said, with the firm mien of a tried 
soldier, "and give battle to the savages. God forbid that I, or those attached to me 
and mine, should ever trust again to the fiiith of any servant of the Louises !" 

" He who wishes to prosper in Indian warfare," returned the busy scout, " must not 
be too proud to learn from the wit of a native. Lay her more along the land. Saga- 
more ; we are doubling on the varlets, and perhaps they may try to strike our trail on 
the long calculation." 

Hawk-eye was not mistaken; for, when the Hurons found their course was likely 
to throw them behind their chase, they rendered it less direct, until, by gradually bear- 
ing more and more obliquely, the two canoes were, ere long, gliding on parallel lines, 
within two hundred ^-ards of each other. It now became entirely a trial of speed. So 
rapid was the progress of the light vessels, tliat the lake curled in their front in 
miniature waves, and their motion became undulating by its own velocity. It was, 
perhaps, owing to this circumstance, in addition to the necessity of keeping every hand 
employed at the paddles, that the Hurons had not immediate recourse to their fire- 
arms. The exertions of the fugitives were too severe to continue long, and the pur- 
suers had the advantage of numbers. Duncan observed, with uneasiness, that the 



CANOE CHASE ON THE HOHiCAN. I37 

scout began to look anxiously about Mm, as if seareliiug tor some further means of 
assisting their flight. 

" Edge her a httle more from the sun, Sagamore," said the stubborn woodsman ; 
" I see the knaves are sparing a man to the rifle. A single broken bone might lose us 
our scalps. Edge more from the sun, and we will put the island between us." 

The exjiedient was not without its use. A long, low island lay at a little distance 
before them, and as they closed with it the chasing canoe was compelled to take a side 
opposite to that on which the pursued passed. The scout and his companions did not 
neglect this advantage, but the instant they were hid from observation by the bushes 
they redoubled efl'orts that before had seemed j)rodigious. The two canoes came 
round the last low point like two coursers at the top of their speed, the fugitives tak- 
ing the lead. This change had brought them nigher to each other, however, while it 
altered their relative positions. 

" You showed knowledge in the shaping of birchen bark, Uncas, when you chose 
this from among the Huron canoes," said the scout, smiluig, apparently, more in satis- 
faction at their superiority in the race than from that prospect of final escape which 
now began to open a little upon them. " The imps have put all their strength again at 
the jjaddles, and we are to struggle for our scalps with bits of flattened wood, instead 
of clouded barrels and true eyes ! A long stroke and together, friends." 

" They are preparing for a shot," said Hey ward ; " and as we are in a line with 
them it can scarcely tail." 

" Get you then into the bottom of the canoe," returned the scout ; " you and the 
colonel ; it wUl be so much taken from the size of the mark." . 

Heyward smUed as he answered — 

" It would be but an ill example for the highest in rank to dodge, wliile the war- 
riors were under fire !" 

"Lord! Lord! that is now a white man's courage!" exclaimed the scout; "and 
like too many of his notions, not to be maintained by reason. Do you think the Saga- 
more, or Uncas, or even I, who am a man without a cross, would deUberate about 
finding a cover in a skrimmage, when an open body would do no good ! For what 
have the Frenchers reared up their Quebec, if fighting is always to be done in the 
clearings ?" 

"All that you say is very true, my friend," replied Heyward; "still our customs 
must prevent us from doing as you wish." 

A volley from the Hurons interrupted the discourse, and, as the bullets whistled 
about them, Duncan saw the head of Uncas turned, looking back at himself and 
Munro. Notwithstanding the nearness of the enemy, and his own great personal dan- 
ger, the countenance of the young warrior expressed no other emotion, as the former 
was compelled to think, than amazement at finding men willing to encounter so useless 
an exposure. Chingachgook was probably better acquainted with the notions of white 
18 



138 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

men, for he did not even cast a glance aside from the riveted look his ej-e maintained 
on the object h}' which he governed their course. A ball soon struck the light and 
polished paddle from the hands of the chief, and drove it through the air far iu ad- 
vance. A shout arose from the Hurons, who seized the opportunity to fire another 
volley. Uncas described an arc in the water with his own blade, and as the canoe 
passed swiftly on, Chingachgook recovered his paddle, and flourishing it on high, he gave 
the warwhoop of the Mohicans, and then lent his own strength and skill again to the 
important task. 

The clamorous sounds of " le Gros Serpent," "la Longue Carabine," "le Cerf 
Agile," burst at once from the canoes behind, and seemed to give new zeal to the pur- 
suers. The scout seized " kill-deer in his left hand, and elevating it above his head, he 
shook it in triumph at his enemies. The savages answered the insult with a yell, and 
immediately another volley succeeded. The bidlets pattered along the lake, and one 
even pierced the bark of their little vessel. No perceptible emotion could be discov- 
ered in the Mohicans during this critical moment, their rigid features expressing 
neither hope nor alarm ; but the scout again turned his head, and laughing in his own 
silent manner, he said to Heyward — 

"The knaves love to hear the sounds of their pieces; but the eye is not to be 
found among the Mingoes that can calculate a true range in a dancing canoe ! You 
see the dumb devils have taken ofl" a man to charge, and by the smallest measurement 
that can be allowed, we move three feet to their two !" 

Duncan, who was not altogether as easy under this nice estimate of distances as 
his companions, was glad to find, however, that owing to their superior dexterity, and 
the diversion anion"- their enemies, they were very sensibly obtaining the advantage. 
The Hurons soon fired again, and a bullet struck the blade of Hawk-eye's paddle 
•without injury. 

" That will do," said the scout, examining the slight indentation with a curious eye; 
" it would not have cut the skin of an infant, much less of men, who, like us, have 
been blown upon by the heavens in their anger. Now, major, if you will try to use 
this piece of flattened wood, I'll let ' kill-deer' take a part in the conversation." 

Heyward seized the paddle, and applied himself to the work with an eagerness 
that supplied the place of skill, while Hawk-eye was engaged in inspecting the 
priming of his rifle. The latter then took a swift aim, and fired. The Huron in the 
bows of the leading canoe had risen with a similar object, and he now fell backward, 
suflTering his gun to escape from his hands into the water. In an instant, however, he 
recovered his feet, though his gestures were wild and bewildered. At the same 
moment his companions suspended their efibrts, and the chasing canoes clustered 
together, and became stationary. Chingachgook and Tineas profited by the inter-\al to 
regain their wind, though Duncan continued to work with the most persevering in- 
dustry. ,The father and son now cast calm but inquiring glances at each other, to learn 



CANOK CHASE ON THE HORICAN. 139 

if either had sustained any injury by the fire ; for both avuU knew that no cry or ex- 
clamation would, in such a moment of necessity, have been permitted to betray the 
accident. A few large drops of blood were trickling down the shoulder of the Saga- 
more, who, when he perceived that the eyes of Uncas dwelt too long on the sight, 
raised some water in the hollow of his hand, and washing off" the stain, was content to 
manifest, in this simple manner, the slightness of the injury. 

"Softly, softly, major," said the scout, who by this time had reloaded his rifle ; "we 
are a little too far already for a rifle to put forth its beauties, and you see yonder imps 
are holdmg a council. Let them come up within striking distance — my eye may well 
be trusted in such a matter — and I will trail the varlets the length of the Horican, 
guaranteeing that not a shot of theirs shall, at the worst, more than break the skin, 
while ' kill-deer' shall touch the life twice in three times." 

"We forget our errand," returned the diligent Duncan. "For God's sake, let us 
profit by this advantage, and increase our distance from the enemy." 

" Give me my children," said Munro, hoarsely ; " trifle no longer with a father's ago- 
ny, but restore me my babes !" 

Long and habitual deference to the mandates of his superiors, had taught the scout 
the virtue of obedience. Throwing a last and lingering glance at the distant canoes, he 
laid aside his rifle, and, relieving the wearied Duncan, resumed the paddle, which he 
wielded with sinews that never tired. His efibrts were seconded by those of the Mohi- 
cans, and a very few minutes served to place such a sheet of water between them and 
their enemies, that Heyward once more breathed freely. 

The lake now began to expand, and their route lay along a wide reach, that was 
lined, as before, by high and ragged mountains. But the islands were few, and easily 
avoided. The strokes of the paddles grew more measured and regular, wliile they 
who plied them continued their labor, after the close and deadly chase from which 
they had just relieved themselves, with as much coolness as though their speed had 
been tried in sport, rather than under such pressuig, nay, almost desperate, circum- 
stances. 

Instead of following the western shore, whither their errand led them, the wary 
Mohican inclined his course more toward those bills, behind which Montcalm was 
known to have led his army into the formidable fortress of Ticonderoga. As the Hu- 
rons, to every appearance, had abandoned the pursuit, there was no apparent reason 
for this excess of caution. It was, however, maintained for hours, until they had 
reached a baj', nigh the northern termination of the lake. Here the canoe was driven 
upon the beach, and the whole party landed. Hawk-eye and Heyward ascended an 
adjacent bluff", where the former, after considering the expanse of water beneath him, 
attentively, for many minutes, pointed out to the latter a small object, hovermg under 
a headland, at the distance of several miles. 

"Do you see it?" demanded the scout. "Now, what would you account that 



140 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

spot, were you left alone to white exjierience to find your way through this wil- 
derness ?" 

" But for its distance and its magnitude, I should suppose it a bird. Can it be a 
living object ?" 

" 'Tis a canoe of good birchen bark, and paddled by fierce and crafty Mingoes ! 
Though Providence has lent to those who inhabit the woods eyes that would be need- 
less to men in the settlements, where there are inventions to assist the sight, yet no 
human organs can see all the dangers which at this moment circimivent it. These 
varlets pretend to be bent chiefly on their sun-doAvn meal, but the moment it is 
dark, they will be on our trail, as true as hounds on the scent. We must throw 
them oif, or our pursuit of le Renard Subtil may be given up. These lakes are 
useful at times, especially when the game takes the w^ater," continued the scout, 
gazing about him with a countenance of concern, "but they give no cover, except 
it be to the fishes. God knows what the country would be, if the settlements 
should ever spread far from the two rivers. Both hunting an<l war would lose their 
beauty." 

" Let us not delay a moment, without some good and obvious cause.'" 

" I little like that smoke, which you may see worming up along the rock above the 
canoe," interrupted the abstracted scout. " My life on it, other eyes than ours see it, 
and know its meaning ! Well, words will not mend the matter, and it is time that we 
were doing." 

Hawk-eye moved away from the look-out, and descended, musing profoundly, to 
the shore. He communicated the result of his observations to his comjjanions in Dela- 
ware, and a short and earnest consultation succeeded. When it terminated, the there 
instantly set about executing their new resolutions. 

The canoe was lifted from the water, and borne on the shoulders of the party. They 
proceeded into the wood, making as broad and obvious a trail as possible. They 
soon reached a watercourse, which they crossed, and continued onward, until they 
came to an extensive and naked rock. At this point, where their footsteps might be 
expected to be no longer visible, they retraced their route to the brook, walking back- 
ward, with the utmost care. They now followed the bed of the little stream to the 
lake, into which they immediately launched their canoe again. A low point concealed 
them from the headland, and the margin of the lake was fringed for some distance with 
dense and overhanging bushes. Under the cover of these natural advantages, they 
toiled their way with patient industry, mitil the scout pronounced that he believed it 
would be safe once more to land. 

The halt continued until evening rendered oVyects indistinct and uncertain to the 
eye. Then they resumed their route, and, favored by the darkness, pushed silently and 
vigorously toward the western shore. Although the rugged outline of mountain, to 
which they were steering, presented no distinctive marks to the eyes of Duncan, the 



CANOE CHASE ON THE HORICAN. 



141 



Mohican entered the little haven he had selected with the confidence and accuracy of 
an experienced pilot. 

The boat was again lifted and borne into the woods, where it was carefully con- 
cealed luider a pUe of brush. The adventurers assumed their arms and packs, and the 
scout annoimced to Munro and Heyward, that he and the Indians were at last in readi- 
ness to proceed. 







^:-... _.^- 



VII. 
THE PRAIRIE. 



Eee "Tlie Mohicans" was published, a second romance of Indian adventure 
had been already planned. But the scene was changed. The ground was no 
longer overshadowed by the boundless forest and timbered heights ; the limpid 
lakes, the falling streams of the eastern valleys, were no longer accessories in the 
picture. In the course of his in<|uiries regarding the habits and character of the 
red man, while writing " The Mohicans," Mr. Cooper was thrown i-epeatedly into 
temporary associations with parties of warriors from the tribes beyond the Missis- 
sippi, on their way to smoke the calumet at the council halls in Washington. He 
was mufh interested by some of the chiefs — tiie anecdotes of their ditl'erent deeds 
of wild prowess, told by the interpreters ; of their singular fortitude and powers 
of physical endurance ; of their wily cunning and fierce passions ; the vein of 
poetry and laconic eloquence, if the expression )nay be used, marking their brief 
speeches ; their natural dignity of manner and grace of gesture, blended with 
their strongly-marked savage mien and accoutrements, struck him ^'cry forcibly. 
Tales of great bufl'alo hunts ; of battles between the mounted tribes, of vast fires 
sweeping over these boiTiidless plains, were listened to with the vivid interest and 
sympathy and searching incpiiry always aroused in him by narratives of adven- 
ture. The result was a determination to attempt a second Indian book, whose 
scenes should be laid on the wild Western jjlains, among the mounted tribes 
beyond the Mississippi. 

The prairies he had never seen. His travels westward had not extended 
farther than Bufl'alo and Niagara, where he liad gone on duty, when serving in 



THE PRAIRIE. I43 

the navy. And at tlie moment of planning the book, he had not leisnre for an 
excursion beyond the Mississippi, much as he wislied to see that singular region. 
The necessary information could, therefore, be drawn from books and conversation 
only. But the eye of genius has a living lens of its own, peculiar to itself, 
endowing it with an insight which penetrates far below the surface of things, 
which seizes objects though veiled liy tlie intervening cloxid, which is capable of 
clear perception far beyond the common horizon ; give it but a vague outline, let 
it but fix its vision on some distant point, and ere long great facts appear, strong 
and distinct in all the force of their reality, while lesser details of poetical grace 
and natural feeling come to light, and live and glow like the flowers beneath the 
sunbeam. With Shakespeare it looks toward Italy, and he who had never trod 
other than Ins native soil, brings all Venice, and Verona, and " Padova la dotta" 
to the shores of England, and throws the softness of the Italian moon over the 
nearest lawn. TVitli the author of '' "Waverley" it looks into the scroll of History, 
and the page becomes illuminated with all the fpiaint pageantry of mediteval 
Time, in life-like glow and movement. It turns, with the poet of "Childe Har- 
old," toward the Russian steppe, and the wild troop of untamed horse comes 
rushing in savage fury toward the terrified reader. 

The sketches of Indian character, as drawn by the writer of "The Mohicans" 
and "The Pi-airie," liave been declared too poetical, too much idealized. To a 
certain degree this criticism may be just. His was a mind naturally attracted by 
the noblest elements in every subject ; he had little sympathy witli the petty — he 
took no pleasure in dwelling on the perverted deformities of our common nature. 
His best characters — those M'hich are the most complete, the most highly-finished, 
which take the strongest hold of the reader's mind — were usually cast in a noble 
mould. It was natural that this should be so ; never was there a ])en held by a 
writer of works of the imagination more frankly honest, more simply sincere, 
more invariably guided by the real feeling of the author, than his own. He 
wrote from the heart. It was no cold, factitious head-work with him. His own 
personal views were always elevated ; to this fact his whole life bears testimony — 
a testimony which assumes its strongest character to those who knew most intim- 
ately the habitual daily course of that life. Writing, with him, was simply the 
outpouring of his own nature, the expression of his own inmost train of thought, 
the current of real feeling in liis own breast. Every character at all a favorite 
with him, he instinctively idealized — he gave it something of the glow ever warm 
at his own heart's core. It was, therefore, quite a matter of course that in draw- 
ing Indian character he should dwell on the better traits of the picture, rather 
than on the coarser and more revolting though more common points. Like 



144 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

West, he could see tlie Aiiollo in the yonng Mohican. lie cliose to draw from a 
Taniomund, a Powliattau, a Metacom. To-day we are apt to forget tliat siicli men 
have existed ; we stumble over a dniuken Oneida, or Chi]ipewa, Ijiilg in our 
path, and conceive ourselves entitled to lower the whole race, in its past in- 
dependent existence, to the condition of the fallen wretch before us, degraded by 
vices, thrust upon him by the white man. With Uncas, with the Pawnee Loup, 
the a^ithor may have shown us the red man in a highly poetical light; and yet 
in each case the picture is in itself so beautiful, that which of us shall deliberately 
say he could wish the outline less noble, the coloring less pure ! 

Tlio idea of a narrative connected with the great Prairies being conceived, 
the figure of Natty once more rose before the writer. Again there was a moment 
of hesitation ; would the ])ublic tolerate the introduction of the same character 
for a third time; would it be possible to carry the old hunter, in extreme age, 
through a train of freshly novel incident without impairing the native dignity, 
the simple beauty of the conception ? Tlie doubt lasted but a moment ; the 
affection, if one njay so term it, of the writer for this creation of his mind, 
blended with the consciousness of the ability to carry out the idea, decided the 
question ; and with the first pages of tlie narrative the old man is revealed, stand- 
ing in the solitude of the silent plain : 

"The sun had fallen l)elow the crest of the nearest wave of the prairie, leav- 
ing the usual rich and glowing train on its track. In tlie centre of this flood of 
fiery light, a human form appeared, drawn against the gilded background, as 
distinctly, and, seemingly as paljiable, as though it would come within the grasp 
of any extended hand. The figure was colossal ; the attitude musing and melan- 
choly, and the situation directly in the route of tlie travellers. But, imbedded as 
it was in its setting of garish light, it was impossible to distinguish more con- 
cerning its proportions or character. 

" The efiect of such a spectacle was instantaneous and powerful. The man in 
front of the emigrants came to a stand, and remained gazing at tlie mysterious 
object with a dull interest, that soon quickened into a species of superstitious awe. 
His sons, so soon as the first emotions of surprise had a little abated, drew slowly 
around him, and, as they who governed the teams gradually followed their 
example, the whole party was soon condensed in one silent and wondering 
group. Notwithstanding the impression of a supernatui-al agency was very gen- 
eral among the travellers, the ticking of gun-locks was heard and one or two 
of the bolder of the youths cast their rifles forward, in guarded readiness for 
any service. 

" ' Send the boys off to the right,' exclaimed the resolute wife and mother, in 



THE PRAIRIE. -^^^ 

a sharp, dissouant voice ; ' I warrant lue, Asa ur Abner will give soiiiu accoimt 
of the creatur !' 

" ' It may be well enough to try the rifle,' muttered a dull-looking man, whose 
features, both in outline and expression, bore no small resemblance to the first 
speaker, and who loosened tlie stock of his piece and brought it dexterously to 
the front, M'hile delivering this decided opinion ; ' the Pawnee Loups are said to 
be hunting by hundreds in the j^lains ; if so, they'll never miss a single man from 
their tribe.' 

" ' Stay !' exclaimed a soft-toned but fearfully-alarmed lemale voice, wliich 
was easily to be traced to the trembling lips of the younger of the two women ; 
' we are not all together ; it may be a friend !' 

" ' "Who is scouting now V demanded the father, scanning, at the same time, 
the cluster of his stout sons with a displeased and sullen eye. ' Put by the piece, 
put by the piece ;' he continued, diverting the other's aim, with the finger of a 
giant, and with the air of one it might be dangerous to deny. ' My job is not 
yet ended ; let us finish the little that remains in peace.' 

"The man who had manifested so hostile an intention appeared to under- 
stand the other's allusion, and suffered himself to be diverted from his object. 
The sons turned their inquiring looks on the girl who had so eagerly spoken, to 
require an explanation ; but, as if content with the respite she had obtained for 
the stranger, she had already sunk back in her seat, and now chose to afiect a 
maidenly silence. 

" In the mean time, the hues of the heavens had often changed. Li place 
of the brightness which had dazzled the eye, a gray and more sober light had 
succeeded, and as the setting lost its brilliancy, the proportions of the fanciful 
form became less exaggerated, and finally quite distinct. Ashamed to hesitate, 
now that the truth was no longer doubtful, the leader of the party resumed his 
journey, using the precaution, as he ascended the slight acclivity, to release his 
own rifle from the strap, and to cast it into a situation more convenient for sud- 
den use. 

" There was little apparent necessity, however, for such watchfulness. From 
the moment when it had tlitis unaccountably appeared, as it were, between the 
heavens and the earth, the stranger's figure had neither moved nor given the 
smallest evidence of hostility. Had he harbored any such evil intention, the in- 
dividual who now came plainly into view seemed but little qualified to execute 
them. 

" A frame that had endured the hardships of more than eighty seasons was 
not qualified to awaken apprehension in the breast of one as powerful as the 
19 



14:6 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

emigrant. Notwithstanding liis years, and liis looli of emaciation if not of snffcr- 
ing, there was that abont tliis solitary being, however, whicli said tliat time, and 
not disease, had hiid liis hand too heavily on him. Ilis form had withered, but 
it was not wasted. The sinews and mnseles, whieh had once denoted great 
strength, though shrunken, were still visible ; and his whole figure had attained 
an appearance of induration, which, if it were not for the M-elbknown frailty of 
humanity, -would have seemed to bid defiance to the further approaches of decay. 
His dress Avas chiefly of skins, worn with the hair to the weather ; a pouch and 
horn were suspended from his shoulders ; and he leaned on a rifle of uncommon 
length, but which, like its owner, exhibited the wear of long and hard service. 

"As the party drew niglier to this solitary being, and came within a distance 
to be heard, a low growl issued from the grass at his feet, and then a tall, gaunt, 
toothless hound arose lazily from his lair, and shaking himself, made some show 
of resisting the nearer approach of the travellers. 

"■ ' Down, Hector, down,' said his master, in a voice that was a little trenni- 
lous and hollow with age. ' What have ye to do, pup, with men who journey on 
their lawful callings^ 

" ' Stranger, if you ar' much acquainted in this country,' said the leader of 
the emigrants, ' can you tell a traveller where he may find necessaries lor the 
night.' 

"'Is the land filled on the other side of the Big River ?' demanded the old 
man, solemnly, and without apjDearing to hearken to tlie other's question ; ' or 
why do I see a sight I had never thought to behold again !' 

" ' Why, there is country left, it is true, for such as liave money, and ar' not 
particular in the choice,' returned the emigrant ; ' but tu my taste, it is getting 
crowdy. What may a man call the distance from this place to the nigliest point 
on the main river.' 

" ' A hunted deer could not cool his sides in the Mississippi, without travelling 
a long five hundred miles.' 

" 'And in what way may you name the district, hereaway?' 

" ' By what nanie,' returned the old man, pointing significantly upward, ' would 
you call the spot where you see yonder cloud ?' 

"The emigrant looked at the other, like one who did not comprehend his 
meaning, and who half suspected he was trifled with, but he contented himself by 
saying— 

" ' You ar' but a new inhabitant, like myself, I reckon, stranger, otherwise 
you wouldn't be backward in helping a traveller to some advice ; which costs 
but little, seeing it is only a gift in words.' 



THE PRAIRIE. 147 

" '■ It is not a gift, Lut a debt that the old owe to the young. AVliat would you 
wish to know ?' 

" ' "Where I may 'camp for the night. I'm no great difficulty-maker, as to 
bed and board, but, all old journeyers, like myself, know the virtue of sweet 
water, and a good browse for the cattle.' 

" ' Come, then, with me, and you shall be master of both ; and little more is 
it that I can offer on this hungry prairie.' 

" As the old man was speaking, he raised his heavy rifle to his shoulder, with 
a facility a little remarkable for his years and appearance, and without further 
words led the way over the acclivity into the adjacent bottom.'' 




"Tlie Prairie" was commenced in Xew York, in the winter cf 1826. Tlie 
author was at that time suflering from the consequences of the attack of fever, 
which for several years affected his health (piitc seriously. He was anxious to 
finish his work, however, at an early day. The profits of his pen had of late 
years become of importance to him ; the settlement of his father's estate, under 
very unfavorable circumstances, had made great and unforeseen changes in his 
fortune. The prospect of an ample inheritance had passed away. He was now 
a poor man. There were debts to be discharged — debts brought upon him by no 
extravagance of his own, but through the misconduct of others for whom he had 
assumed responsibilities. To discharge these debts became of course his first 
object, xind to effect this purpose, he attempted writing at a moment when 
enfeebled by the effects of fever. To keep up his strength for the task, he tried 
a stimulant ; he took coffee before writing ; and this was the only occasion on 



148 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

Arhich lie ever resorted to auy thing of the kmd for the same pm-pose. Through 
life his maimer of living was generous, hut clearly temperate. Wine he drank 
dailv. but at dioner only, and then ahvays moderately. Earely. indeed, did he 
take a single glass at any other hour, excepting at an occasional supper- 
partv. Opium never entered his lips. Even the habit of smoking was never 
formed. Those few cups of coilee. while writing " The Prairie," are believed to 
have been the only instance in which a stimulant of any kind was resorted to, 
M-liile writmg ; the effect on his nerves was not good, and the coifee was given up 
after a short time. 

In the summer of 1826, having honorably discharged the debts alluded to, he 
sailed for Europe, carrying his wife and children with him, and provided with 
the means of support for one year in advance. Tlie last chapters of "Tlie 
Prairie" were wi-itten in the third story of the old Hotel de Jumieges, in the 
Faubourg St. Germain, a building which is now occupied by the nims of the 
adjoining convent of St. Maur. 

A few passages from letters of the author belonging to this period are inserted 
here. Tlie fii-st shows us a French landscape as seen by him. The second relates 
to an interview between Sir "Walter Scott and Mr. Cooper, the former having 
visited France at this moment with the view of collecting materials for the " Life 
of Xapoleou,'' which he was then writing. 

A FEEXCH LANDSCAPE. 

" After amusing ourselves with the spectacle of the diligence, we foimd the 
seenerv too beautiful to re-enter the carriage immediately, and we walked to the 
top of the mountain. Tlie view from the summit was truly admirable. The 
Seine comes winding its way through a broad, rich valley, from the southward, 
having just before run east, and a league or two beyond, due west, our own 
Susquehanna being scarcely less crooked. The sti-eam was not broad, but its 
numerous isles, willowy banks, and verdant meadows, formed a line for the eye 
to follow. Eouen, in the distance, with its ebony towers, fantastic roofs, and 
straggling suburbs, lines its shores, at a curvature where the stream swept away 
west again, bearinsr craft of the sea on its bosom. Those dark old towei-s have a 
sombre, mysterious air, which harmonizes admirably with the recollections that 
crowd the mind at such a moment I Scarce an isolated dwelling was to be seen, 
but the dense, population is compressed into villages and hov.rgs, that dot the 
view, looking brown, and teeming like the nests of wasps. Some of these places 
still have remains of walls, and most of them are so compact and well-defined 
that they appear more like vast castles than like the open ^-illages of England or 



THEPRAIRIK. 149 

America. All are gray, sombre, and absolutely without glare, rising from the 
background of pale verdure, to many appropriate has-reliefs. 

" The road was strewed with peasants of both sexes, wending their way home- 
ward from the market of Rouen. One tawny woman, with no other protection for 
her head than a high, but perfectly clean cap, was going past us, driving an ass, 
with the panniers loaded with manure. We were about six miles from the town, 
and the poor beast, after staggering some eight or ten miles to the market in the 
morning, was stasjiierinrr back with this heavy freight at even. I asked the 
woman, who, under the circumstances, could not but be a resident of one of the 
neighboring villages, the name of a considerable howg, that lay about gun-shot 
distant in plain view, on the other side of the river. 'Monsieur je ne saurais vous 
dire, parceque, voyez-vous, je ne suis pas de ce pays la.' I once inquired of a 
servant-girl at a French inn, who might be the owner of a chateau near by, the 
gate of which was within a hundred feet of the house we were in. She was un- 
able to say, ui-ging as an apology, that she had only lieen six weeks in her present 
place ! This too, was in a small comitry hamlet. . . . The road for the rest 
of the afternoon, led us over hills and plains, from one reach of the river to an- 
other, for we crossed the latter rejieatedly before reaching Paris. The appearance 
of the country was extraordinary to our eyes. Isolated houses were rare, but vil- 
lages dotted the whole expanse. No obtinisive colors, but the eye had frequently 
to search against the hill-side, or in the valley, and first, detecting a mass, it grad- 
ually took in the picturesque angles, roofs, towers and walls of the little loiirg. 
Kot a fence or visible boundary of any sort, to mark the limits of possession. Xot 
a hoof in the fields grazing, and occasionally a sweep of mountain land which 
resembled a pattern card, with its stripes of green and yellow, and other hues, the 
narrow fields of the rural proprietors. The play of light and shade on these gay 
upland patches, though not strictly in conformity with the laws of taste, was cer- 
tainly attractive. When they fell entirely into shadow, the harvest being over, 
and their gaudy colors lessened, they resembled the melancholy and wasted 
vestiges of a festival. At Lonviers we dined, and there we found a new object 
of wonder in the church. It was of the Gothic of the iourg, less elaborated and 
more rudely wrought than that of the larger towns, but quaint, and, the population 
considered, vast. Ugly dragons thrust out their grinning heads at us from the but- 
tresses. Tlie most agreeable monstrosities imaginable, were crawling along the 
gray old stones. After passmg this place, the scenery lost a good deal of the pas- 
toral appearance, which renders Xormandy rather remarkable in France, and 
took still more of the starch pattern-card look just mentioned. Still it was 
sombre, the villages were to be detached by the eye from their setting of fields, 



150 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

and here and tliere, one of those ' silent fingers pointing to tlie skies,' raised itself 
into the air like a needle, to prick the consciences of the thoughtless. The dusky- 
hues of all the villages, contrasted oddly, and not unpleasantly, with the carnival 
colors of the grains." 



mXEEVIEW WITH SIR WALTEE SCOTT. 

" It might have been ten days after the arrival of Sir "Walter Scott, that I had 
ordered a carriage one morning, with the intention of driving over to the other 
side of the river, and had got as far as the lower flight of stej^s on my way to the 
door, when another coach drove into the court. It was raining, and as my own 
carriage moved ofi:' to make room for the new-comer, I stopped on the stairs until 
it should return. The carriage-steps rattled, and presently a large, lieavy-moulded 
man appeared in the door of the hotel. He was gray, and limped a little, walking 
with a cane. We passed each other on the stairs, bowing, as a matter of course. 
I had got to the door, and was about to enter the carriage, when it flashed on my 
mind that the visit might be to myself. I had not the slightest suspicion who the 
visitor was, though I fancied both the face and form were known to me. 

'' The stranger went up the large stone steps slowly, leaning with one hand 
on the iron railing, and, with the other on his cane. He was on the first landing, 
as I stopped, and, turning toward the next flight, our eyes met. The idea I might 
be the person he wanted, seemed then to strike him for the first time : 'Est-ee 
Monsieur — que j'ai riionneur de voir V he asked, in French, and with but an in- 
different accent. ' Monsieur, je m'appelle Eh-bien, done, je suis Walter Scott.' 

"I ran up the landing, shook him by the hand, which he stood holding out to 
me cordially, and expressed my sense of the honor he was conferring. He told 

me, in substance, that the Princesse had been as good as her word, and, 

having succeeded herself in getting hold of him, she had good-naturedly given 
him my address. By way of cutting short all ceremony, he had driven from his 
hotel to my lodgings. All this time he was speaking French, while my answers 
and remarks were in English, suddenlj^ recollecting himself, he said, ' Well, here 
have I been 2MrIe2-vousiii(/ to you in a way to surprise you, no doubt ; but these 
Frenchmen have got my tongue so set to their lingo, that I have half forgotten my 
own language.' As we proceeded up the next flight of stairs, he accepted my 
arm, and continued the conversation in English, walking with more ditflculty than 
I had expected to see. 

" There would be an impropriety in my relating all that passed in this inter- 







L-gterlytuid rapid e\'oltiticnir. wth meliarse;' 
nictfitieelinsi! flie rhtirgeB.lln; wftvanrce andihe 

L-tvLii.wtTelikeflieni^iia of cirUiii. 



THE PRAIRIE. 15J^ 

view ; but we talked over a matter of business, and then the conversation was 
more general. You will remember that Sir "Walter was still the Unhioicn — he 
did not avow himself for several montlis after — and that he was believed to be in 
Paris in search of facts for the ' Life of Xapoleon.' Notwithstanding the former 
circumstance, he spoke of his works with great frankness and simplicitv, and 
■without the parade of asking any promises of secrecy. In short, as he com- 
menced in this style, his authorship was alluded to by us both just as if it had 

never been called in question. He asked me if I had a copy of the by 

me, and on my confessing I did not own a single volume of any thing I had 
written, he laughed, and said he believed that most authors had tlie same feeling 
on the subject; as for himself, he cared not if he never saw a Waverley novel 
again as long as he lived. Curious to know whether a writer as great and as 
practised as lie, felt the occasional despondency which invariably attends all my 
own little efforts of this nature, I remarked that I found the mere composition 
of a tale a source of pleasure, so much so that I always invented twice as much 
as was committed to paper, in my walks, or in bed, and in my own judgment 
much the best parts of the composition never saw the light ; for what was 
written was usually written at set hours, and was a good deal a matter of chance, 
and that going over and over the same subject in proofs disgusted me so 
thoi'oughly with the book, that I supposed every one else would be disposed to 
view it in the same light. To this he answered that he was spared much of the 
labor of proof-reading, Scotland, he presumed, being better off than America in 
this respect ; but still he said he ' would as soon see his dinner again after a 
hearty meal as to read one of his own talcs, when he was fairly rid of it.' 

" He sat with me nearly an hour, and he manifested, during the time the con- 
versation was not tied down to business, a strong propensity to humor. Having 
occasion to mention our common piiblisher in Paris, he quaintly termed him, with 
a sort of malicious fun, ' Our Gosling' — his name was Gorselin — adding he hoped 
lie at least ' laid golden eggs.' 

"I hoped he had found the facilities he desired, in obtaining facts for the 
forthcoming history. He rather hesitated about admitting this. ' One can hear 
as much as he pleases in the way of anecdote,' he said, ' but then, as a gentleman, 
he is not always sure how much of it he can, with propriety, relate in a book; 
beside' — throwing all his latent humor into the expression of his small gray eyes 
— ' one may even doubt how much of what he hears is fit for history on another 
account.' He paused, and his face assumed an exquisite air of confiding sim- 
plicity, as lie continued with perfect ionne foi^ and strong Scotch feeling, ' I 
have been to see my countryman M'Donald, and I rather think that %vill be about 



152 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

as much as I can do here, now.' This was nttered with so niucli naivete that I 
conhl hardly believe it was the same man, who, a moment before, had shown so 
much shrewd distrust of oral relations of facts. 

" I infjuired when wo might expect the work. ' Some time in tlie course of 
the winter,' he replied, 'though it is likely to prove larger than I at lirst intended. 
We have got several volumes printed, but I find I must add to the matter con- 
siderably, in order to dispose of the subject. I thought I should get rid of it in 
seven volumes, which are already Avritten, but it will reach, I think, to nine.' 
' K you have still two to write, I shall not expect to see the book before spring.' 
' You may : let me once get back to Abbotsford, and I'll soon knock off these 
two fellows.' To this I had nothing to say, although I thought such a tou7' de 
force in writing might better suit invention than history. 

" When he rose to go, I begged him to step into the salon, that I might have 
the gratification of introducing my wife to him. To this he very good-naturedly 

assented, and entering the room, after presenting Mrs. and my nephew 

"W , he took a seat. lie sat some little time, and his fit of pleasantry returned, 

for he illustrated his discourse liy one or two apt anecdotes, related with a slightly 

Scottish accent, which he seemed to drop and assume at will. Mrs. observed 

to him that the hergere in which he was seated had been twice honored that 
morning, for General Lafayette had not left it more than half an hour. Sir 
Walter looked surprised at this, and said, incpiiringly, ' I thought he had gone 
to America to pass the rest of his days ?' On my explaining the true state of the 
case, he merely observed, ' He is a great man ;' and yet I thought the remark was 
made coldly, or in complaisance to us. 

" When Sir AV alter left ns, it was settled that I was to breakfast with him the 
following day but one. I was punctual, of course, and found him in a new silk 
douillette that he had just purchased, trying, ' as hard as he could,' as he 
pleasantly observed, ' to make a Frenchman of himself — an undertaking as little 
lucely to bo successful, I should think, in the case of his Scottish exterior and 
Scottish interior too, as any experiment well could be. Tliere were two or three 
visitors present, beside Miss Ann Scott, his daughter, who was his companion on 

the journey. lie was just answering an invitation from the Princess to an 

evening party, as I entered. ' Here,' said he, ' you are a friend of the ladj-, and 
2>arlez-vous so much better than I: can you tell me whether this is for Jundi, or 
Lundi, or Mard!, or whether it means no day at all?' I told him the day of the 
week intended. ' You get notes occasionally from the lady, or you could not read 
her scrawl so readily !' ' She is very kind to us, and avc often have occasion to 
read lier writing.' ' Well, it is worth a very good dinner to get through a page 



T H K P R A 1 R I E . • I53 

of it.' • I take my revenge in kind ; 1 fuucy she has the worst of it I' "I don't 
know, after all, that she will get much the better of me, with this plume 
cTauhtrge.^ He was quite right, for, although Sir "Walter writes a smooth, even 
hand, and one that appears rather well than otherwise on a page, it is one of the 
most difficult to decipher I have ever met with ; the i's, u's, m's, n's, a's, e's, I's, 
and r's, for want of dots, crossings, and Leing fully rounded, looking all alike, 
and rendering the reading slow and difficult, without great familiarity M^ith his 
mode of handling the pen ; at least I have found it so. 

" He had sealed the note, and was about ^VTiting the direction, when he 
seemed at a loss : ' How do yon address this lady — as " Her Highness ?" ' I was 
much surprised at this cpiestion from him, for it denoted a want of familiarity 
with the world, that one would not have expected in a man who had been so very 
much and so long courted by the great. But, after all, his life has been very 
provincial, though, as his daughter remarked in the course of the morning, they 
had no occasion to quit Scotland to see all the world, all the world coming to see 
Scotland. 

"The next morning he was with me again, for near an hour, and we com- 
pleted our little affair. After this we had a conversation on the law of copyrights 
in the two coimtries, which, as we jiost^ess a conmiou language, is a subject of 
great national interest. I understood him t<_) say that he had a double right in 
England to his works ; one under a statute, and the other growing out of com- 
mon law. Any one, publishing a book, let it be written by whom it might, in 
England, duly complying with the law, can secure the right, whereas none but a 
citizen can do the same in America. I regret to say that I misled him on the 
subject of our copyright law, which, after all, is not so much more illiberal than 
that of England, as I had thought it. 

" I told Sir AV alter Scott that, in order to secure a copyright in America, it was 
necessary the book should never have been published anywhere else. This was 
said under the popular notion of the matter ; or that which is entertained among 
the booksellers. Reflection and examination have since convinced me of my 
error : the publication alluded to in the law can only mean publication in 
America; for, as the object of doing certain acts previously to publication is 
merely to forewarn the American public that the right is reserved, there can be 
no motive for having reference to any other publication. It is, moreover, in con- 
formity with the spirit of all laws to limit the meaning of their phrases by their 
proper jurisdiction. Let us suppose a case. An American wiites a book; he 
sends a copy to England, where it is published in March ; complpng with the 
terms of our own copyright law, as to the entries and notices, the same work is 
20 



154 P A G K S AND P I C T U U E S . 

published here in April. Xuw will it he pretended that his right is li:>f.t, always 
providing that his own is the tirst Amerioan puljlication ? I do not see how 
it can he so, by either the letter or the spirit of the law. The intention is to en- 
courage the citizen to write, and to give him a first property in the frnits of his 
labor ; and the precautionary provisions of the hiw are merely to prevent otlicrs 
from being injnred f<_ir want of proper inlnrmation. It is of no moment to either 
of these objects that tlie author of a work has already reaped emolument in a 
foreign country : the principle is to encourage literature by giving it all the ad- 
vantages it can obtain. 

"If these views are correct, why may not an English writer secure a right in 
this country, by selling it in season to a citizen here ? An erpiitable bond might 
not, probably would not, be sufficient ; but a l)ona fide transfer for a valuable 
consideration, I begin to think, wi.iuhl. It seems to me that all the misconception 
which has existed on this jjoint has arisen froni supposing that the term pidilica- 
tion refers to other than a publication in the coimtry. But, when one remembers 
how rare it is to get lawyers to agree on a question like this, it becomes a layman 
to advance his opinion with great humility. I suppose, after all, a good way of 
getting an accurate notion of the meaning of the law would be to toss a dollar 
into the air, and cry ' heads,' or ' tails !' Sir Walter Scott seemed fully aware 
of the great circulation of Iiis books in America, as Avell as how much he lost by 
not being able to secure a copyriglit. Still he admitted they produced him some- 
thing. Our conversation on this subject terminated by a frank oiler, on his jjart, 
of aiding me with the publishers of his own country — an offer twice renewed, 
after intervals of several years ; but, althougli grateful for the kindness, I was 
not so cii-cumstanced as to be aide to profit by it. 

" He did not appear to me to be pleased with Paris. Ilis notions of the French 
were pretty accurate, though clearly not free from the old-fashioned prejudices. 
' After all,' he remarked, ' I am a true Scot, never, except on this occasion, and 
the short visit I made to Paris in ISl.^i, liaving been out of my own country, 
unless to visit England, and I have even done very little of the latter.' I under- 
stood him to say he had never been in Ireland at all. 

" I met him once )nore in the evening, at the hotel of the Princess . The 

party had been got together in a liurry, and was not large. Our hostess contrived 
to assemble some exceedingly clever people, however, among whom were one or 
two women, already historical, and whom I had fancied long since dead. Ail the 
fenuile part of tlie company, with the silent delicacy that the French so avcU 
understand, appeared with ribbons, hats, or ornaments of some sort or other, of a 
Scottish stamp. Indeed, almost the only woman in the room who did not aj)- 



THEPRAIRIE. ' 5^55 

j)ear as a Caledonian ■w'as Miss Scott. She was iu lialf-niourning, and, with her 
black eyes and jet-bhiclc hair, niiglit very well have passed for a Frenchwoman, 
l)iit for a slight peculiarity about the cheek-bones. She looked exceedingly well, 
and was much admired. Having two or three more places to go to, they staid 
but an hour. As a matter of course, all the Frenchwomen were exceedingly 
empressees in their manner to tlie Great Uiikmiwu; and as thei-e were three or 
four who were very exaggerated on the score of romance, he was quite lucky if he 
escaped some absurdities. Nothing could be more patient than his manner 
under it all ; but as soon as he very well could, he got into a corner where I 
went to speak to him. He said, laughingly, tliat lie spoke French witli so nnich 
dithculty, he was embarrassed to answer the compliments. ' I am as good a lion 
as need be, allowing my mane to be stroked as familiarly as they please, but I 
can't growl for them in French. Ibiw is it with you V Disclaiming the necessity 
of being either a good or a bad lion, being \e\-\ little troubled in that way, for his 
amusement, 1 related to him an anecdote. Pointing out to him a Comtesse de 

■ , who was present, I told him I had met this lady once a week for several 

months, and at every soiree she invariably sailed up to me to say : ' Oh Monsieur, 
quels livres ! — vos charmans livres — que vos livres sout charmans !' and I had just 
made up my mind that she was, at least, a woman of taste, when she apjjroached 

mo with the utmost sang froid, and cried, 'Bon soir, monsieur ; je viens 

d'acheter tous vos livres, et je compte profiter de la premiere occasion pour les 
lire !' 

'■ I took leave of him in the ante-chamber, as he went away, for he was to 
quit Paris the following evening. 

" Sir Walter Scott's person and manner have been so often described, that you 
will not ask much of me in this way, especially as I saw so little of him. His 
frame is large and nmseular, his walk ditlicult, in appearance, though he boasted 
himself a vigorous mountaineer, and his action in general measured and heavy. 
His featiires and countenance were very Scottish, with the short thick nose, heavy 
lips, and massive cheeks. The superior or intellectual part of his head was 
neither deep nor broad, but perhaps the reverse, though singularly high. Indeed, 
it is quite uncommon to see a skull so round and tower-like in the tVirmation, 
though I have met with them in individuals not at all distinguished for talents. 
I do not think a casual observer would find any thing ininsual in the exterior of 
Sir "Walter Scott, beyond his physical force, which is great, without being at all 
extraordinary. His eye, however, is certainly remai'kable. Gray, small, and 
without lustre, in his gra^-er moments it appears to look inward, instead of regard- 
ing external objects, in a way, though the expression more or less belongs to 



156 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

abstraction, tliat I have never seen equalled. Ilis smile is good-natured and 
social ; and when he is in the mood, as happened to be the tact so often in our 
brief intercourse as to lead me to think it characteristic of the man, his eye 
would lighten with a great deal of latent fun. He spoke more freely of his 
private aiiairs than I had reason to expect, though our business introduced the 
subject naturally ; and, at such times, I thought the expression changed to a sort 
of melancholy resolution that was not wanting in sublimity. 

" The manner of Sir Walter Scott is that of a man accustomed to see much of 
the world without being exactly a man of the world himself. He has, evidently, 
great social tact, perfect self-possession, is quiet, absolutely without pretension, 
and has much dignity ; and yet it struck me that he wanted the ease and aplonib 
of one accustomed to live with his equals. The fact of his being a lion may pro- 
duce some such effect; l)ut I am mistaken if it be not more the influence of early 
habits and opinions, than of any thing else. 

" Scott has been so much the mark of society, that it has evidently changed 
his natural manner, which is far less restrained than it is his habit to bo in the 
world. I do not mean liy this the mere restraint of decorum, but a drilled sim- 
plicity or demureness, like that of girls who are curbed in their tendency to fun 
and light-heartedness. liy the dread of observation. I have seldom known a man 
of his years whose manner was so different in a tite-d-tete, and in the presence of 
a third person. In Edinburgh, the circle must be small, and he, probably, knows 
every one. If strangers do go there, they do not go all at once, and, of course, the 
old faces form the great majority, so that he finds himself always on familiar 
ground. I can readily imagine that in Auld Reekie, and among the right set, 
warmed, perhaps, by a glass of mountain-dew. Sir Walter Scott, in his peculiar 
way, is one of the pleasantest companions the world holds. 

Tlie principal subject of the conversation between Sir Walter Scott and Mr. 
Cooper, may be stated to have related to the pecuniary affairs of the author of 
"Waverley," as regarded his interests in America, ilr. Cooper was most wannly 
and sincerely engaged in forwarding those interests. He wrote private letters, 
articles for papers and periodicals, and other public appeals, with this view. It 
was his hope that something nearer to a just compensation for the fruits of his 
labors than he had yet received, might be given to the veteran writer, struggling 
under adversity. He believed that a man whose works — purely original, the off- 
spring of his OM'n individual mind and labor, were providing sources of livelihood 
to ten thousand printers, and increase of wealth to a hundred booksellers, had 
every right to look for a respectable portion of the receipts of his works, from a 
people speaking the same language, and every reading household of whom had 



THE PRAIRIE. 



157 



those works passing through their hands. For a time the American autlior was 
quite sanguine of the result. This hope was destined to be disappointed. Publics, 
whether under Crown or Congress, are not often generous; simply just they are, 
perhaps, never. 

" The Prairie" was published by Messrs. Gary and Lea, of Philadelphia, in 
the autumn of 1S26. It was read with less eagerness than the '' Last of the Mohi- 
cans," by the public generally ; but a position higher than that of any previous 
work of the same writer was conceded to it by the better class of critics. In 
France, it was very greatly admired. At a later day, when revising his works 
for a final edition, the writer expressed much regret that he had not confined the 
characters to those naturally connected with the ground, the rude Itackwoodsman 
and his family group, with the Pawnees and Dacotahs, all moving about Natty 
as a common centre. The introductidu of Inez and Middletou, he declared a 
great blemish. The book was a favorite with himself; it gave liim pleasure to 
have written it, and yet lie seldom thought with much interest of his own works 
after they had once passed from his ])ortfolio. This was especially the case during 
the first fifteen or twenty years of his ])rofessional career, when he seems very 
rarely to have looked back to his own writings, and still more rarely to have 
opened one. 





THE THICKET ON THE PRAIRIE. 

The mustering of the borderers on the following mornujg was silent, sullen, and 
gloomy. The repast of the hour was wanting in the inharmonious accompaniment 
with which Esther ordinarily enlivened tlieir meals ; for the eifects of the powerful 
opiate the Doctor had admmistered, still muddled her usually quick intellects. The 
young men brooded over the absence of their elder brother, and the brows of Ishmael 
himself were sternly knit, as he cast his scowling eyes from one to the other, like a man 
who was preparing to meet and to repel an expected assault on his authority. In the 
midst of this family distrust, Ellen and lier midnight confederate, the naturalist, took 
their usual places among the children, without awakening suspicion or exciting comment. 
The only apjiarent fruits of the adventure in which they had been engaged, were occa- 
sional upliftings of the eyes, on tlie part of the Doctor, which were niistaken bj' the 
observers for some of his scientific contemplations of the heavens, but which, in reality, 
were no other than furtive glances at the fluttering walls of the proscribed tent. 

At length the sqtiatter, who had waited in vain for some more decided manifes- 
tation of the expected rising among his sons, resolved to make a demonstration of his 
own intentions. 

" Asa shall account to me for this undutiful conduct !" he coolly observed. " Here 
has the livelong night gone by, and he outlying on the prairie, when his hand .and his 
rifle might both have been wanted in a brush witli tlie Siouxes, for any right he had to 
know the contrary." 

" Spare your breath, good man," retorted his wife ; " be s.avu)g of your breath ; for 
you may have to call long enough for the boy before he will answer !" 

" It ar' a fact, that some men be so womanish, as to let the yoimg master the old ! 



THE TUXCKET ON THE PRAIRIE. 159 

But you, ol<l Esther, should know bettor than to thuik sucli will ever be the nature of 
things ill the family of Ishmael Bush." 

" Ah ! you are a hectorer with the boys, when need calls ! I know it well, Ishmael ; 
and one of your sons have jou driven from you, by your temper; and that, too, at a 
time when he is most wanted." 

" Father," said Abner, whose sluggish nature had gradually been stimulating itself 
to the exertion of taking so hold a stand, " the boys and I have pretty generally con- 
cluded to go out on the search of Asa. We are disagreeable about his 'camping on 
tlie prairie, instead of coining in to his own bed, as we all know he would like to do — " 

"Pshaw!" muttered Abiram ; "the boy has killed a buck; or perhaps a bufialo ; 
and he is sleeping by the carcass to keep off the wolves, tiU day ; we shaU soon see 
him, or hear him bawling for liel[) to bring in his load." 

" 'Tis little help that a son of mine will call for to shoulder a buck or to quarter your 
wUd beef!" returned the mother. "And you, Abiram, to say such an uncertain thing! 
you, who said yourself that the reil^kins had been prowling around this place no later 
than the yesterday — " 

" I !" exclaimed her brother, hastily, as if anxious to retract an error ; " I said it then, 
and I say it now ; and so you will find it to be. The Tetons are in our neighborhood, 
and hajipy will it prove for the boy if he is well shut of them." 

" It seems to me," said Dr. Battius, speaking with the sort of deliberation and dignity 
one is apt to use after having thoroughly ripened his opmions by sufficient reflection, 
I " it seems to me, a man but little skilled in the signs and tokens of Indian warfare, es- 
pecially as practised in these remote plains, but one who, I may say without vanity, has 
some insight into the mysteries of nature — it seems, then, to me, thus humbly qualified, 
that when doubts exist in a matter of such moment, it would always be the wisest 
course to appease them." 

"No more of your doctoring for me!" cried the grum Esther ; "no more of your 
quiddities in a healthy family, say I ! Here was I doing well, only a little out of sorts 
with over-instructing the young, and 30U dosed me with a drug that still hangs about 
my tongue, like a pound weight on a humming-bird's wing !" 

" Is the medicine out ?" dryly demanded Ishmael ; " it must be a rare doser that, if 
it gives a heavy feel to the tongue of old Esther!" 

" Friend," continued the Doctor, waving his hand for the angry wife to maintain 
the peace ; " that it cannot perform all that is said of it, the very charge of good Mrs. 
Bush is a sufficient proof. But to speak of the absent Asa. There is doubt as to his 
fate, and there is a proposition to solve it. Now, in the natural sciences, truth is always 
a desideratum ; and I confess it would seem to be equally so in the jiresent case, which 
may be called a vacuum where, according to the laws of physic, there should exist some 
pretty palpable proofs of materiality." 

"Don't mind him, don't mind him," cried Esther, observing that the rest of his 



IQO PAGES AND PICTURES. 

auditors listened with :iii attention whieli niiglit proceed equally from acquiescence 
in his pro}30sal or ignorance of its meaning. "There is a drug in every word he utters." 

" Dr. Battius wishes to say," Ellen mo<lesfly interposed, "that as some of us think 
Asa is in danger, and some think otherwise, the whole family miglit pass an hour or two 
in looking for him." _ 

" Docs he ?" interrupted the woman ; " then Dr. Battius has more sense in him than 
I believed ! He is right, Ishmael ; and what he says, shall be done. I will shoulder a 
rifle myself; and woe betide the redskin that crosses my path ! I have pulled a trigger 
before to-day ; aye, and hoard an Indian yell, too, to my sorrow." 

The spirit of Esther diffused itself, like the stimulus which attends a victorious war- 
crj', among her indolent sons. They arose in a body, and declared their determination 
to second so bold a resolution. Ishmael prudently yielded to an impulse he could not 
resist, and in a few minutes the woman appeared, shoiddering her arms, jjrepared to 
lead forth, in person, such of her descendants as chose to follow in her train. 

" Let them stay with the children that please," she said ; "and them foUow me, who 
ar' not chicken-hearted !" 

" Abiram, it will not do to leave tlie huts without some guard," Ishmael whispered, 
glancing his eye upward. 

The man whom he addressed started, and betrayed extraordinary eagerness in his 
reply. 

" I will tarry and watch the camp." 

A dozen voices were instantly raised in objections to this jiroposal. He was wanted 
to point out the places where the hostile tracks had been seen, and his termagant sister 
openly scouted at the idea, as miworthy of his manhood. The reluctant Abiram was 
compelled to yield, and Ishmael made a new disposition for the defence of the |)lace ; 
which was admitted, by every one, to be all-important to their security and comfort. 

Ho offered the post of commandant to Dr. Battius, who, however, peremptorily and 
somewhat haughtily declined the doubtful honor ; exchanging looks of singular intelli- 
gence with Ellen as he did so. In this dilemma the squatter was obliged to constitute 
the girl herself castellan; taking care, liowever, in deputing this important trust, to 
omit no words of caution and instruction. When this preliminary point was settled, 
the young men j)roceeded to arrange certain means <_)f defence, and signals of alarm, 
that were adapted to the weakness and character of the garrison. Several masses of 
rock were drawn to the edge of the upper level, and so placed as to leave it at the dis- 
cretion of the feeble Ellen and her associates, to cast them or not, as they might choose, 
on the heads of any invaders — who would, of necessity, be obliged to mount the eminence 
by the difficult and narrow passage already so often mentioned. In addition to this 
formidable obstruction, the barriers were strengthened and rendered nearly impassable. 
Smaller missiles, that might be hurled l)y the hands of even the younger children, but 
which would prove, from the eknation of the place, exceedingly dangerous, were pro- 



THE THICKET ON THE PRAIRIE. 1(]1 

viJed ill profusion. A pile of dv'wA leaves and splinters were plueeti, as a beacon, on 
the upper rock, and then, even in the jealous judgment of the squatter, the post was 
deemed competent to maintaui a creditable siege. 

The moment the rock was thought to be in a state of sufficient security, the party 
who composed what might be called the sortie, sallied forth on their anxious expedition. 
The advance was led by Esther in person, who, attired in a dress half masculine, and 
bearing a weapon like the rest, seemed no unfit leader for the group of wildly-clad 
frontier-men that followed leisurely in her rear. 

" Now, Abiram !" cried the Amazon, in a voice that \vas cracked and harsh, for the 
simple reason of being used too often in a strained and unnatural key. "Now, Abi- 
ram, run with your nose low; show yourself a hound of the true breed, and do some 
credit to your training. You it was that saw the prints of the Indian moccasin, and it 
behoves you to let others be as wise as yourself. Come ; come to the front, man, and 
give us a bold lead." 

The brother, who appeared at all times to stand in salutary awe of his sisters au- 
thority, complied ; though it was with a reluctance so evident, as to excite sneers even 
among the unobservant and mdolent sons of the squatter. Ishmael himself moved 
among his tall children, like one who expected nothing from the search, and who was 
indifferent alike to its success or failure. In this manner the jiarty proceeded until 
their distant fortress had sunk so low, as to present an object no larger nor more dis- 
tinct than a hazy point, on the margin of the prairie. Hitherto their progress liad 
been silent and somewhat rapid, for as swell after swell was mounted and passed, with- 
out varying, or discovering a li\'iiig object to enliven the monotony of the view, even 
the tongue of Esther was hushed in increasing anxiety. Here, however, Ishmael 
chose to pause, and casting the butt of his rifle from his shoulder to the ground, ob- 
served — 

"This is enough. Buiialo signs and deer signs ar' plenty ; but where ar' the Indian 
footsteps that you have seen, Abu-ani ?" 

" Still farther to the west," returned the other, pointing in the direction he named. 
"This was the spot where I struck the track of the buck I killed; it was after I took 
the deer, that I fell upon the Teton trail." 

"And a bloody piece of work you made of it, m:in !" cried the squatter, pointmg 
tauntingly to the soiled garments of his kinsman, and then directing the attention of 
the spectators to his o\sni, by the way of a triumphant contrast. " Here have I cut the 
throat of two lively does, and a scampering fawn, without spot or stain ; while you, 
blundering dog as you ar', you have made as much work for Eester and lier girls, as 
though butchering was your regular calling. Come, boys ; I say it is enough. I am 
too old not to know the signs of the frontiers, and no Indian has been here, since the 
last fall of water. Follow me ; and I will make a turn that shall give us at least the 
beef of a fallow cow for our trouble." 
21 



165i PAGES AND PICTURES. 

"Follow Hie/" echoed Esther, stepping uiulauntodly forward. " I am leader to-day, 
and I urill be followed. For who so proper, let mo know, as a mother to head a search 
for her lost child ?" 

Ishmael regarded his intractable mate with a smile of indulgent pity. Observing 
that she had already struck out a path for herself, different both from that of Abiram 
and the one he had seen fit to choose, and being unwilling to draw the cord of authority 
too tight just at that moment, he again sullenly submitted to her will. But Dr. Battius, 
who had hitherto been a silent and thoughtful attendant on the woman, now saw fit to 
raise his feeble voice in the way of remonstrance. 

" I agree with thy partner in life, worthy and gentle Mrs. Bush," lie said, " in be- 
Ueving that some ignis fatinis of the imagination has deceived Abiram, in the signs or 
symptoms of which he has spoken." 

" Symptoms, yourself !" interrupted the termagant. "This is no time for bookish 
words, nor is tliis a place to stop and swallow medicines. If you are a-leg-weary, say 
so, as a plain-speaking man should ; then seat yourself on the prairie, like a hound that 
is foot-sore, and take your natural rest." 

" I accord in the opinion," the naturalist calmly replied, complying literally with the 
opinion of the deriding Esther, by taking his seat, very coolly, by the side of an indig- 
enous shrub ; the examination of which he commenced, on the instant, in order that 
science might not lose any of its just and important dues. "I honor your excellent 
advice. Mistress Esther, as you may jierceivc. Go thou in cpiest of thy offspring ; 
while I tarry here in pursuit of that which is better, viz., an insight into the arcana of 
nature's volume." 

The woman answered with a hollow, unnatural, and scornful laugh, and even her 
heavy sons, as they slowly jiassed the seat of the already abstracted naturahst, did 
not disdain to manifest their contempt in significant smiles. In a few minutes the train 
had mounted the nearest eminence, and, as it turned the rounded acclivity, the doctor 
was left to pursue his profitable investigations in entire solitude. 

Another half-hour passed, during whicli Esther continued to advance on her seem- 
ingly fruitless search. Her pauses, however, were becoming frequent, and her looks 
wandering and uncertain, when footsteps were heard clattering through the bottom, 
and at the next instant a buck was seen to bound up the ascent, and to dart from before 
their eyes, in the direction of the naturalist. So sudden and unlooked-for had been 
the passage of the animal, and so much had he been fiivored by the shape of the 
ground, that before any one of the foresters had time to bring his rifle to his shoulder, 
It was already far beyond the range of a bullet. 

" Look out for the wolf!" shouted Abner, shaking his head in vexation, at behig a 
single moment too late. " A wolf's skin will be no bad gift in a winter's night ; aye, 
yonder the hungry devil comes!" 

" Hold !" cried Ishmael, knocking up the levelled weapon of his too eager son. 



THE THICKET ON THE PRAIRIE. 163 

" 'Tis not a ■n-olf ; but a lionnd of tliorougli blood and bottom. Ha ! we have liunters 
nigh : there ar' two of them !"' 

He was still speaking when the animals in question came leaping on the track of the 
deer, striving with noble ardor to outdo each other. One was an aged dog, whose 
strength seemed to be sustained purely by his generous emulation, and the other a pup, 
that gambolled even while he pressed most warmly on the chase. They both ran, 
however, with clean and powerful leaps, carrying their noses high, like animals of the 
most keen and subtle scent. They had passed ; and in another minute they would 
have been running open-mouthed with the deer in view, had not the younger dog 
suddenly bounded from the course and uttered a cry of surprise. His aged com- 
panion stopped also, and returned jianting and exhausted to the place where the other 
was whirling around in swift and apparently in mad evolutions, circling the spot in his 
own footsteps, and continuing his outcry in a short, snappish barking. But, when the 
elder hound had reached the spot, he seated himself, and lifting his nose high into the 
air, he raised a long, loud, and wailing howl. 

"It must be a strong scent," said Abner, who had been, with the rest of the family, 
an admiring observer of the movements of the dogs, " that can break off" two such 
creaturs so suddenly from their trail !" 

"Murder them !" cried Abiram ; "Til swear to the old hound ; 'tis the dog of the 
trapper, whom we now know to be our mortal enemy." 

Though the brother of Esther gave such hostile advice, he appeared in no way ready 
to put it into execution himself. The surprise which had taken i)ossession of the 
whole party, exhibited itself in his own vacant, wondering stare, as strongly as in any 
of the admiring visages by whom he was surrounded. His denunciation, therefore, 
notwithstanding its dire import, was disregarded ; and the dogs were left to obey the 
impulses of their mysterions instinct, without let or hindrance. 

It was long before any of the spectators broke the silence ; but the squatter at 
length so far recollected his authority as to take on himself the right to control the 
movements of Ids children. 

" Come away, boys ; come away, and leave the hounds to sing their tunes for their 
own amusement," Ishmael said, in his coldest manner. " I scorn to t.ake the life of a 
beast because its master has pitch'd himself too nigh my clearing ; come away, boys ; 
come away ; we have enough of our own work before us, without turning aside to do 
that of the whole neighborhood." 

" Come not away !" cried Esther, in tones that sounded like the admonitions of 
some sibyl. " I say, come not away, my children. There is a meaning and a warn- 
ing in this ; and as I am a woman and a mother, will I know the truth of it all !" 

So saying, the awakened wife of the squatter brandished her weapon, with an air 
that was not without its wild and secret influence, and led the way toward the spot 
where the dogs still remained, filhng the air with their long-drawn and piteous com- 



IQ^ PAGES AND PICTURES. 

jilaints. The whole party followed in her steps, some too indolent to oppose, others 
obedient to her will, an<i all nioro or less exeited by the uncommon character of the 
scene. 

" Tell me, you, Abner — Abiram — Ishmael !" the woman cried, standing over a spot 
where the earth was trampled and lieaten, and })lainly sprinkled with blood — " tell me, 
you who ar' hunters ! what sort of animal has liere met his death ? Sjieak ! Ye ar' 
men, and used to the signs of the jjlaius, all of ye ; is it the blood of wolf or 
panther ?" 

" A buffalo — and a noble and powerful creatur' has it been !" returned the squatter, 
who looked down calmly on the fatal signs which so strangely affected his wife. 
" Here are the marks of the spot where he has struck his lioofs into the earth, in the 
death-struggle ; and yonder he has plunged and torn the ground with his horns. Aye, 
a buffalo bull of wonderful strength and courage has he been !" 

"And who has slain him?" continued Esther. "Man ! where, then, are the offals? 
Wolves! — they devour not the hide ! Tell me, ye men ami hunters, is this the blood 
of a beast ?'' 

" The creatur' has plunged over the hillock," said Abner, who had proceeded a 
short distance beyond the rest of the party. " Ah ! there you will find it, in yon swale 
of alders. Look! a thousand carrion birds ar' hovering, this very moment, above the 
carcass." 

"The animal has still life in him," returned tlie squatter, "or the buzzards would 
settle upon their prey! By the action of the dogs it must be something ravenous ; I 
reckon it is the white bear from the upper falls. They are said to cling desperately to 
life !" 

" Aye, let us go back," said Abiram ; " there may be danger, and there can be no 
good, in attacking a ravenous beast. Rememlier, Ishmael, 'twill be a risky job, and 
one of small profit !" 

The young men smiled at this new proof of the well-known pusillanimity of their 
too sensitive uncle. The oldest even proceeded so far as to express his contempt, by 
bluntly saying — 

" It will do to cage \\-ith the other animal we carry ; then we may go back double- 
handed hito the settlements, .and set up for showmen around the court-liouses and gaols 
of Kentucky." 

The dark, threatening frown which gathered on the brow of his father, admonished 
the young man to forbear. Exchanging looks that were half rebellious, with his 
brethren, he saw fit to be silent. But instead of observing the caution recommended 
by Abir.am, they proceeded in a body, until tliey again came to a halt within a few yards 
of the matted cover of the thicket. 

The scene had now, indeed, become wild and striking enough to have produced a 
powerful effect on minds better prepared than those of the unnurtured family of the 



THE THICKET ON THE PRAIRIE. Ig5 

squatter, to resist the impressions of such an exciting spectacle. The heavens were 
as usual at the season, covered with dark, driving clouds, beneath which interniinahle 
flocks of aquatic birds were agaiii on the wing, lidding their toilsome and heavy way 
toward tlie distant waters of the south. The wind had risen, and was once more 
sweeping over the prairie in gusts, which it was often vain to oppose ; and tlien .igain 
the blasts would seem to mount into the upper air, as if to sport with the drifting 
vapor, whirling and rolling vast masses of the dusky and ragged volumes over each 
other, in a terrific and yet grand dis(ir<ler. Above the little brake, the flocks of birds 
still held their flight, circling with heavy wings about the spot, struggling at times 
against the torrent of wind, and then, favored by their position and height, making bold 
swoops upon the thicket, away from which, however, they never failed to sail, scream- 
uig In terror, as if apprised, either by sight or instinct, that the hour of then- voracious 
dominion had not yet fully arrived. 

Ishmael stood for many minutes, with his wife and children clustered together, in 
an amazement, with which awe was singularly mingled, gazing in death-like stillness on 
the imposing sight. The voice of Esther at length broke the charm, and reminded 
the spectators of the necessity of resolving their doubts in some manner more worthy 
of their manhood, than by a dull and inactive observation. 

"Call in the dogs," she said; "call in the hounds and put them into the thicket; 
there ar' men enough of ye, if ye have not lost the sjiirit with which I know ye were 
born, to tame the tempers of all the bears west of tlie big river. Call in the dogs, I 
say, you Enoch! Abner ! Gabriel! has wonder made ye deaf as well as dumb?" 

One of the young men compUed ; and having succeeded in detaching the hounds 
from the place, around which, until then, they had not ceased to hover, he led them 
down to the margin of the thicket. 

" Put them in, boy ; put them in," continued the woman ; " and you, Ishmael and 
Abiram, if any thing wicked or hurtful comes forth, show them the use of your rifles, 
like frontier-men. If ve ar' wanting in spirit, before the eyes of my children will I ])ut 
ye both to shame !" 

The youths, who, until now, had detained the hounds, let slip the thongs of skin, by 
which they had been held, and urged them to the attack by their voices. But it would 
seem that the elder dog was restrauied l)y some extraordinary sensation, or that he was 
much too experienced to attempt the rash adventure. After proceeding a few yards 
to the very verge of the brake, he made a sudden pause, and stood trembling in all his 
aged limbs, apparently as unable to recede as to advance. The encouraging calls of 
the young men were disregarded, or only answered by a low and plaintive whining. 
For a minute the pup also was similarly aflfected ; but less sage, or more easily excited, he 
was induced at length to leap forward, and finally to dash into the cover. An alarmed 
and startling howl was heard, and, at the next minute, he broke out of the thicket, 
and commenced circling the spot, in the same wild and unsteady manner as before. 



166 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

" Have I a man among my ehililren ?" demanded the aroiised Esther. " Give me a 
truer piece than a childish shot-gun, and I will show you what the courage of a fron- 
tier-woman can do." 

" Stay, mother," e.\elaimed Abner and Enoch ; " if you v;Ul see tlie creatur', let us 
drive it mto view." 

This was quite as much as the youths were accustomed to utter, even on more im- 
portant occasions ; but having thus given a pledge of their intentions, they were far 
from being backward in redeeming it. Preparing tlieir arms with the utmost care, 
they advanced with steadiness to the brake. Nerves loss often tried than those of the 
young borderers might easily have shrunk before the dangers of so uncertam an under- 
taking. As they jiroceeded, the howls of the dogs became more shrill and plaintive. 
The vultures and buzzards settled so low as to flap the bushes with tlieir heavy wings, 
and the wind came hoarsely sweeping along the naked prairie, as if the spirits of the 
air had also descended to witness the approaching development. 

There was a breathless moment, when the blood of the usually undaunted Esther 
flowed backw'ard to lier heart, as she saw her sons push aside tlie matted branches of 
thicket, and bury themselves in its labyrinth. A deep and solemn pause succeeded. 
Then arose two loud and piercing cries, in quick succession, which were followed by a 
quiet stUl more awful and appalling. 

" Come back, come back, my children," cried the woman, the feelings of a mother 
getting the entire ascendency in her bosom. 

But her voice was hushed, and e\-ery faculty seemed frozen with horror, as at that 
instant the bushes once more parted, and the two adventurers reappeared, pale, and 
nearly insensible themselves, and laid at her feet the stift" and motionless body of the 
lost Asa, with the marks of a violent death but too plainly stamped on every jDallid 
lineament. 

The clogs uttered a long and closing ho« 1, and then breaking oif together, they dis- 
appeared on the forsaken trail of the deer. The flight of birds wheeled upward into 
the heavens, filling the air with their complaints at having been robbed of a victim, 
which, frightful and disgusting as it was, still bore too much of the impression of hu- 
manity to become the prey of their obscene appetites. 

"Stand back! stand off, the whole of ye!" said Esther hoarsely, to the crowd, 
which pressed too closely on the corpse ; " I am his mother, and my right is better 
than that of ye all! Who has done this":' Tell me, Ishmael, Abiram, Abner? open 
your mouths and your hearts, and let God's truth, and no other, issue from them. 
Who has done this bloody deed ?" 

Her husband made no reply, but stood, leaning on his rifle, looking sadly, but with 
an unaltered eye, at the mangled remains of his son. Not so the mother ; she threw 
herself on the earth, and receiving the cold and ghastly head of the dead man into her 
lap, she sat many minutes contemplating those muscular features, on which the death- 



THE THICKET ON THE PRAIRIE. 167 

agony was still horridly impresseil, in a silence even more expressive than any language 
of lamentation could possibly have proved. 

The voice of the woman was literally frozen in grief. In vain Ishmael attempted a 
few words of rude consolation; she neither listened nor answered. Her sons gathered 
about her in a circle, and expressed, after their uncouth manner, their sympatliy in her 
sorrow, as well as their sense of their own loss, but she motioned them away, impa- 
tiently, with her hand. At times her fingers played in the matted hair of the dead, 
and at others they lightly attempted to smooth the painfully expressive muscles of 
its ghastly visage, as the hand of the mother is often seen to linger fondly about the 
features of her sleeping child. Then starting from their revolting office, her hands 
would llutter around her, and seem to seek some fruitless remedy against the violent 
blow, which had thus suddenly destroyed the child in whom she had not only placed 
lier greatest hopes, but so much of her maternal ja-idc. It was while engaged in the 
latter incomprehensible manner, that the lethargic Abner turned aside, and swallowing 
the unwonted emotions which were rising in his own throat, he observed — 

"Mother means that we should look for tlie signs, that we may know in what man- 
ner Asa has come by his end." 

" We owe it to the accursed Siouxes !" answered Ishmael ; '• twice have they put 
me deeply in their debt ! Tlie third lime, the score shall be cleared!" 

But, as if not content with this plausible explanation, and, perh.aps secretly glad to 
avert their eyes from a spectacle which awakened such extraordinary and unusual 
sensations in their sluggish bosoms, the sons of the sipiatter turned away in a body 
from their mother and the corpse, and proceeded to make the in(iuiries which they 
fancied the former had so repeatediv demanded. Ishmael made no objections ; but, 
though he accompanied his children \\hile they proceeded in the investigation, it was 
more with the appearance of complying with their wishes, at a time when resistance 
might not be seemly, than with any visible interest in the result. As the borderers, 
notwithstanding their visual dulness, were well instructed in most things connected 
with their habits of life, an inquiry, the success of which depended so much on signs 
and evidences that bore so strong a resemblance to a forest trail, was likely to be con- 
ducted with skill and acuteness. Accordingly, they proceeded to the melancholy task 
with great readiness and intelligence. 

Abner and Enoch agreed in their accounts as to the position in which they had 
found the body. It was seated nearly upright, the back supported by a mass of matted 
brush, and one hand still grasping a broken twig of the alders. It was most probably 
owing to the former circumstance that the body had escaped the rapacity'of the carrion 
birds, which had been seen hovering above the thicket, and the latter pro\-ed that life 
had not yet entirely abandoned the hapless victim when he entered the brake. The 
opinion now became general that the youth had received his death-wound in the open 
prairie, and had dragged his enfeebled form into the cover of the thicket for the pur- 



168 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

pose of concealment. A trail tlirongh llie bushes eonfirmed this opuiion. It also 
appeaieil, on examination, that a desperate struggle had taken place on the very margin 
of the thicket. This was sufficiently apparent by the trodden branches, the deep im- 
j)ressions on the moist ground, and the lavish Qovr of blood. 

" lie has been shot in tlie 02)en ground, and come here for a cover," said Abiram ; 
" these marks would clearly prove it. The boy has been set iijkhi by the savages in a 
body, and has fou't like a hero as he was, until they have mastered liis strength, and 
then drawn him to the bushes." 

To this probable ojiinion there was now but one dissenting voice — that of the 
slow-minded Ishmael, who demanded that the corpse itself should be examined in 
order to a more accurate knowle<lge of its injuries. On examination, it appeared that 
a rifle-bullet had passed directly through the liody of the deceased, entering beneath 
one of his brawny sliouldcrs, and making its exit by the breast. It required some 
knowledge in gunshot wounds to decide this delicate point, but the exjjerieuce of the 
borderers was quite ecjual to the scrutiny; and a smile of wild, and certainly of singular 
satisfaction, passed among the sons of Ishmael when Abner confidently announced that 
the enemies of Asa had assailed him in the rear. 

" It must be so," said the gloomy but attentive squatter. " He was of too good a 
stock and too well trained, knowingly to turn tlie weak side to man or beast ! Remem- 
ber, boys, that while the front of manhood is to your enemy, let him be who or what 
he may, you ar' safe from cowardly surjirise. \V liy, Eester, woman ! you ar' getting 
beside yourself; with )iicking at the hair and the garments of the child! Little good 
can you do him now, old girl." 

" See !" interrupted Enoch, extricating from the fragments of cloth the morsel of 
lead which ha<l prostrated the strength of one so powerful, " here is the very buUet." 

Ishmael took it in liis hand, and eyed it long and closely. 

" There's no mistake," at length he muttered through his compressed teeth. " It 
is from the pcuch of that accursed trapper. Like many of the hmiters, he has a mark 
in his mould, in order to know the Mork his rifle performs ; and here you see it plauily 
— six little holes, laid crossways." 

" I'll swear to it !" cried Abiram, triimiphantly. "He show'd me his jjrivate mark, 
himself, and boasted of the number of deer ho ha<l laid upon the praii-ies with these 
very bullets ! Now, Ishmael, will you believe me when I tell yon the old knave is a 
sjjy of the redskins !" 

The lead passed from the hand of one to that of another ; and nnfortmiately for 
the reputation of the old m.an, several among them remembered also to have seen the 
aforesaid private bullet-marks, during the curious examination which all had made 
of his accoutrements. In addition to this wound, however, were many others of a less 
dangerous nature, all of which were supposed to confirm the supposed guilt of tlie 
trapper. 



THE THICKET ON THE PRAIRIE. 169 

The traces of many different struggles were to be seen, between the spot where 
the first blood was spilt and the thicket, to which it was now generally believed Asa 
had retreated as a place of refuge. These were interpreted into so many proofs of the 
weakness of the murderer, who would have sooner dispatched his \ictim, had not 
even the djang strength of the youth rendered him formidable to the infirmities of one 
so old. The danger of drawing some others of the hmiters to the spot, by repeated 
firing, was deemed a suflicient reason for not again resorting to the rifle, after it had 
performed the important duty of disabling the victim. The weapon of the dead man 
was not to be found, and had doubtless, together with many other less valuable and 
lighter articles, that he was accustomed to carry about his person, become a prize to 
his destroyer. 

But what, in addition to the tell-tale bullet, appeared to fix the ruthless deed with 
pecuUar certainty on the trapper, was the accumulated evidence furnished by the trail; 
which proved, notwithstanding his deadly hurt, that the wounded man had still been 
able to make a long and desperate resistance to the subsequent efforts of his murderer. 
Islimael seemed to press this proof with a singular mixture of sorrow and pride — 
sorrow, at the loss of a son, whom in their moments of amity he highly valued ; and 
pride, at the courage and power he had manifested to his last and weakest breath. 

" He died as a son of mine shoidd die," said the squatter, gleaning a hollow con- 
solation from so unnatural an exultation ; " a dread to his enemy to the last, and with- 
out help from the law 1 Come, children ; we have first the grave to make, and then to 
hunt his murderer." 

The sons of the squatter set about their melancholy office in silence and in sadness. 
An excavation was made in the hard earth, at a great expense of toU and time, and 
the body was wrapped in such spare vestments as could be collected among the 
laborers. When these arrangements were completed, Ishmael approached the seem- 
ingly unconscious Esther, and announced his intention to inter the dead. She heard 
him, and quietly relinquished her grasp of the corpse, rising in silence to follow it to its 
narrow resting-place. Here she seated herself again at the head of the grave, watch- 
ing each movement of the youths with eager and jealous eyes. When a sufiiciency 
of earth was laid upon the senseless clay of Asa, to protect it from injury, Enoch and 
Abner entered the cavity, and trod it into a solid mass by the weight of their huge 
frames, with an appearance of a strange, not to say savage, mixture of care and indif- 
ference. This well-known precaution was adopted to prevent the speedy exhumation 
of the body by some of the carnivorous beasts of the prairie, whose instinct was sure 
to guide them to the spot. Even the rapacious birds appeared to comprehend the 
nature of the ceremony, for, mysteriously apprised that the miserable victim was now 
about to be abandoned by the human race, they once more began to make their airy 
circuits above the place, screaming as if to frighten the kinsmen from their labor of 
caution and love. 
22 



170 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

Ishmael stood, with folded arms, steadily "watchiiig the manner in which this neces- 
sary duty was performed, and when the whole was completed, he lifted his cap to his 
sons, to thank them for their services, with a dignity that would have become one 
much better nurtured. Throughout the whole of a ceremony which is ever solemn 
and admonitory, the squatter had maintained a grave and serious deportment. His 
vast features were visibly stamped with an expression of deep concern ; but at no 
time did they falter, imtil he turned his back, as he believed forever, on the grave of 
his first-born. Nature was then stirring powerfully within him, and the muscles of his 
stern visage began to work perceptibly. His children fastened their eyes on his, as if 
to seek a direction to the strange emotions which were moving their own heavy 
natures, when the struggle in the bosom of the squatter suddenly ceased, and, taking 
his wife b}' the arm, he raised her to her feet as though she had been an infant, saying, 
in a \'oice that was perfectly steady, though a nice observer would have discovered that 
it was kinder than usual — 

" Eester, we have now done all that man and woman can do. "We raised the boy, 
and made him such as few others were like, on the frontiers of America ; and we have 
given him a grave. Let us go." 

The woman turned her eyes slowly from the fresh earth, and laying her hands on 
the shoulders of her husband, stood looking him anxiously in the eyes for many 
moments, before she uttered in a voice, deep, frightful, and nearly choked — 

" Ishmael ! Ishmael ! you i^arted from the boy in your wrath !" 
; " May the Lord pardon his sins freely as I have forgiven his worst misdeeds," 
calmly returned the squattei- ; " woman, go you back to the rock, and read in your 
Bible ; a chapter in that book always does you good. You can read, Eester ; which is 
a privilege I never did enjoy." 

" Yes, yes," muttered the woman, yielding to his strength, and suffering herself to 
be led, though with powerful reluctance, from the spot, "I can read; and how have I 
used the knowledge ! But he, Ishmael, he has not the sin of wasted I'arning to 
answer for. We have spared him that^ at least ! whether it be in mercy or in cruelty, 
I know not." 

Her husband made no reply, but continued steadily to lead her in the direction of 
their temporary abode. When they reached the summit of the swell of land, which 
they knew was the last spot from which the situation of the grave of Asa could be 
seen, they all turned, as by common concurrence, to take a farewell view of the place. 
The little mound itself was not visible; but it was frightfully indicated by the flock 
of screaming birds which hovered above it. In the opposite direction, a low, blue 
hillock, in the skirts of the horizon, pointed out the place where Esther had left the 
rest of her young, and served as an attraction to draw her reluctant steps from the last 
abode of her eldest son. Nature quickened in the bosom of the mother at the sight, 
and she finally yielded the rights of the dead to the more urgent claims of the living. 



THETHICKETONTHEPRAIRIE. 171 

The foregoing occurrences had struck a spark from the stern tempers of a set of 
beings so singularly moulded in the liabits of their uncultivated lives, which served to 
keep alive among them the dying embers of family affection. United to their parents 
by ties no stronger than those which use had created, there had been great danger, as 
Ishmael had foreseen, that the overloaded hive would quickly swarm, and leave him 
saddled with the difficulties of a young and helpless brood, unsupported by the exer- 
tions of those whom he had ahead}' brought to a state of maturity. The spirit of in- 
subordination, which emanated from the unfortunate Asa, had spread among his 
juniors, and the squatter had been made painfully to remember the time when, in the 
wantonness of his youth and vigor, he had, reversing the order of the brutes, cast off 
his own aged and failing parents, to enter into the world unshackled and free. But 
the danger had now abated, for a time at least ; and if his authority was not restored 
with all its former influence, it was visibly admitted to exist, and to maintain its 
ascendency a little longer. 

It is true that his slow-minded sons, even while they submitted to the impressions 
of the recent event, had glimmerings of terrible distrust, as to the manner in which 
their elder brother had met with his death. There were faint and indistinct images 
in the minds of two or three of the oldest, which portrayed the father himself as 
ready to imitate the example of Abraham, without the justification of the sacred 
authority which commanded the holy man to attempt the revolting office. But then, 
these images were so transient and so much obscured in intellectual mists, as to leave 
no very strong impressions, and the tendency of the whole transaction, as we have 
already said, was rather to strengthen than to weaken the authority of Ishmael. 

In this disposition of mind, the party continued their route toward the place whence 
they had that morning issued on a search which had been crowned with so melancholy 
a success. The long and fruitless march which they had made under the direction of 
Abiram, the discovery of the body and its subsequent interment, had so far consumed 
the day, that by the time their steps were retraced across the broad tract of waste 
which lay between the grave of Asa and the rock, the sun had fallen far below his 
meridian altitude. The hill had gradually risen as they approached, like some tower 
emerging from the bosom of the sea, and when within a mile, the minuter objects that 
crowned its height came dimly into view. 

" It will be a sad meeting for the girls !" said Ishmael, who, from time to time, did 
not cease to utter something which he intended should be consolatory to the bruised 
spirit of his stricken partner. "Asa was much regarded by all the young; and seldom 
failed to bring in from his hunts something that they loved." 

" He did — he did," murnnired Esther ; " the boy was the pride of the family. My 
other children are as nothing to liim !" 

" Say not so, good woman," returned the father, glancing his eye a little proudly at 
the athletic train which followed, at no great distance, in the rear. " Say not so, old 



172 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

Eester ; for few fathers and mothers have greater reason to be boastful than 
ourselves. 

"Thankful, thankful," muttered the humbled woman; "ye mean thankful, Ish- 
mael !" 

" Then thankful let it be, if you like the word better, my good girl — but what has 
become of Nelly and the young ! The child has forgotten the charge I gave her, and 
has not only suffered the children to sleep, but, I warrant you, is dreaming of the fields 
of Tennessee at this very moment. The mind of your niece is mainly fixed on the 
settlements, I reckon." 

" Aye, she is not for us ; I said it, and thought it, when I took her, because death 
had stripped her of all other friends. Death is a sad worker in the bosom of families, 
Ishmael ! Asa had a kind feeling to the child, and they might have come one day 
into our places, had things been so ordered." 

" Nay, she is not gifted for a frontier wife, if this is the manner she is to keep house 
while the husband is on the hunt. Abner, let off your rifle, that they may know we 
ar' coming. I fear Nelly and the young ar' asleep." 

The young man complied with an alacrity that manifested how gladly he would 
see the rounded, active figure of EUen, enlivening the ragged summit of the rock. 
But the report was succeeded neither liy signal nor answer of any sort. For a moment 
the whole party stood in suspense, awaiting the result, and then a simultaneous impulse 
caused the whole to let ofl" their pieces at the same instant, producing a noise which 
might not fail to reacli the ears of all within so short a distance. 

" Ah ! there they come at last !" cried Abiram, who was usually among the first to 
seize on any circumstance which promised relief from disagreeable apprehensions. 

" It is a petticoat fluttering on the line," said Esther ; " I put it there myself." 

" You ar' right ; but now she comes ; the jade has been taking her comfort in the 
tent !" 

" It is not so, said Ishmael, whose usually inflexible features were beginning to 
manifest the uneasiness he violently felt. " It is the tent itself blowing about loosely 
in the wind. They have loosened the bottom, like silly children as they ar', and unless 
care is had, the whole will come down !" 

The Mords were scarcely uttered before a hoarse, rushing blast of wind swept by 
the spot where they stood, raising the dust into little eddies, in its progress; and 
then, as if guided by a master hand, it quitted the earth, and mounted in its progress 
to the precise spot on which all eyes were just then riveted. The loosened linen felt 
its influence, and tottered ; but regained its poise, and, for a moment, it became 
tranquil. The cloud of leaves next played in circhng revolutions around the place, 
and then descended with the velocity of a swooping hawk, and sailed away into the 
prairie in long straight lines, like a flight of swallows resting on their expanded 
wings. Thev were followed for some distance bv the snow-white tent, which, how- 



THE THICK KT ON THE PRAIRIE. 



173 



ever, soon fell behind the rock, leaving its highest peak as naked as when it lay in 
the entire solitude of the desert. 

" The murderers have been here !" moaned Esther. " My babes ! my babes !" 
For a moment even Ishmael faltered before the weight of such an unexpected blow. 
But shaking himself, like an awakened lion, he sprang forward, and pushing aside the 
impediments of the bar-ier, as though they had been feathers, he rushed up the 
ascent with an impetuosity which proved how formidable a sluggish nature may 
become when thoroughly aroused. 







-*s'"-^Ci>' 






VIII. 
THE RED ROVER,. 



Singularly different from "Tlie Prairie" was the book now planned. A 
brilliant romance of the sea followed the wild movement of Pawnee and 
Dahcotah over the great plains ; a character as widely opposite as possible from 
the beautiful picture of the ti-apper, in his serene and sylvan old age, becomes 
the principal figure in the new work. A nature rpiick in intellect, endowed 
with great force of will, possessing every advantage of social jjosition and 
culture in early life, but wildly passionate and wayward, is represented as 
having, in an evil hour, while smarting under some act of official injustice, 
violently thrown off all social restraint, and cast itself loose on the stormy tide 
of life, an outlaw in spirit, a corsair in deed. This figure appears for a few brief 
weeks of its wayward course before the reader. He comes in the height of a 
career, successful in so far as evil may claim reality of success — having achieved 
ruthless fame, and power, and treasure, in the dark field of violence ; a few weeks 
pass over ; a short but most eventful drama is enacted on the bosom of the deep, 
within the narrow bounds of two ships. Tiie rover is brought once more into 
contact with |)urc influences, from which he had long utterly estranged himself. 
The voice of a sister falls upon his ear — an elder sister, one who had been more 
than a companion ; one who, beyond a sister's affection, had given something of a 
mother's deep love, and anxious tenderness, and compassionate sympathy to the 
wayward youth at her side. Old memories awaken ; home feeling revives ; con- 
science is powerfully aroused. The passionate spirit, in the very hour of its 
greatest triumph, bows in penitence. The rover surrenders his captives ; his wild 



THE RED ROVER. I75 

crow is disbanded ; -with his own hand he fires the beautiful and victorious craft 
■which liad hmg been the scourge of the seas. He disappears. Half a lifetime 
passes away in obscurity. Again he crosses his sister's threshold to die, having 
been victorious in honorable conflict under the flag fresiily unfurled to the western 
breezes by the young republic. A character like that of the rover was exceed- 
ingly ditficiilt to draw. To represent a man who had so recklessly outlawed 
himself, to give him the ungovernable, passionate natui-e which could alone throw 
him into such a course, to make no attempt at veiling the dark coloring of tiiat 
career of violence, and yet to avoid all revolting detail, and to throw about the 
individual just such a degree of lingering intellectual and moral liglit as to 
awaken our sympathies, and to render final penitence and submission to just 
restraints probable — this was assuredly no easy task. Many simihir characters 
have been drawn, some by the hands of masters ; is there one in English literature, 
whether in prose or in verse, more clearly conceived, more skilfully carried out ? 
The principle on which the contrition of the rover is founded is one entirely true 
to reality. We see it constantly in the quiet course of daily life. There are few 
men, probably, among those blessed with pure home influences in boyhood, over 
whose hearts those influences do not retain a secret, latent power, even in the 
dark period of a career of sin. The feeling may be feeble in degree, it may be 
unacknowledged by the heart in which it still lives, it niay be silenced by pride, 
it may be stifled by evil passion, chilled by tlie cold sneer of the world, polluted 
by corrupt example, perverted by sophism, entangled within the thousand petty 
webs of a miserable selfishness — but rarely indeed — nay, perhaps never — does it 
become utterly and irretrievably extinct so long as that heart beats. Again and 
again, in the course of life, it moves in the secret depths of the soul — it whispers 
to conscience, it appeals to reason. Belonging in its essence to eternal Truth, like 
truth, it is undying in spirit. The ultimate fate of the individual, the final 
coloring which his life is to receive, must e^er depend on the response given to 
such appeals. With many men in this condition, as years move onward, time 
discovers, one by one, all that is false and treacherous ni the thousand alluring 
deceits of crime, and vice, and sin. Their souls open anew to tlie blessed in- 
fluences of Holy Truth. With many men this renovation is efteeted slowly 
indeed, often almost imperceptibly ; step by step they regain something of the 
lost ground, something of those treasures which prodigal manhood has trifled 
away— the •humility, the simplicity, the faith, the love of their childhood. But 
there are others t\>r wliom a few brief days — nay, some signal hour — shall ac- 
complish the same great work ; the scales of error are torn from their eyes, the 
pure light of Heaven shines once more upon the darkened mind, and warms anew 



1^76 PAGESANDPICTURES. 

into a better life that cliilled and hardened soul. A singular incident, bearing 
this moral, offering as it were an illustration of the narrative we are now looking 
over, lias been placed on authentic record by a great and truthful writer. Ud- 
happily, the book is not within reach ; a version necessarily imperfect must be 
accepted for the original words. 

On the shores of southern Florida, and among the rocky islets or " keys" of 
the Gulf of Mexico, there is a rare and a beautiful bird, to which the name of the 
Zenaida Dove has been given by Prince Charles Bonaparte, the ornithologist. 
This creature is very beautiful in its delicate form and plumage ; its general color- 
ing is of a warm and rosy gray, varying in lighter or deeper shades, and barred 
with brown and white on back and wing, while its breast bears a shield of pure 
and vivid blue, bordered with gold, and its cheeks are marked w^ith spots of deep 
ultramarine. Legs and feet are of a deep rose-color, and the nails black. Harm- 
less and innocent, like others of its tribe, this little creature flits to and fro, in 
small family groups, over the rocky islets, and along the warm, sandy beaches of 
the Gulf—" Tampa's desert strand." 

" On that lone shore loud moans tlie sea." 

Tliere are certain locky keys where it loves especially to alight, attracted by the 
springs which here and there gush up })ure and fresh among the coral rocks. The 
low note of this little creature is more than usually sweet, pure, and mournful 
in its tone. But the doves ai'c not the only visitors of those rare sj^rings. A few 
years since, pirates haunted the same spots, seeking, like the birds, water from 
those natural fountains. It chanced one day, that a party of those fierce outlaws 
came to a desolate key to fill their water-casks, ere sailing on some fresh cruise 
of violence. A little flock of the rosy-gray doves — and their flocks are ever few 
and rare — were flitting and cooing in peace about the rocky basin when these 
wretched men appeared ; in aftright they took wing and flew away. The casks 
were filled, and the fierce crew rowed their boat ofl" to the guilty craft lying at 
anchor in the distance. For some reason unexplained, however, one of the band 
remained awhile on the island, alone. He threw himself, in a quiet evening hour, 
on the rocks near the spring, looking over the broad sea, where here and there a 
low solitary islet rose from the deep, while the vessel with which his own fate had 
long been connected, lay idle in the offing. Presently the little doves, seeing all 
quiet again, returned to their favorite spring, flitting to and fro in peace, uttering 
to each other their low, gentle notes, so caressing, and so plaintive. It may have 
been that in tlie wild scenes of his dark career, the wretched man had never 
known the silent force of solitude. He was now gradually overpowered by its 



THE RED ROVER. Jy-j- 

influences, 2>i'essing upon heart and mind ; lie felt liimself to lie alone Avitli his 
Maker and his conscience. Tlie works of the Holy One surrounded him — the 
pure heavens hanging over his head, the sea stretching in silent grandeur far 
beyond the horizon ; one object, alone, connected with man, lay within range of 
his eye — the guilty craft, which, like an evil phantom, lay in the offing, brooding 
sin. A fearful consciousness of guilt came over the wretched man. Curse, and 
riljald jest, and brutal threat, and shriek of death, had long been sounds most 
familiar. And now those little doves came hovering about him, uttering their 
guileless notes of tenderness and innocence. Far away, in his native woods, 
within sight of father's roof, he had often listened in boyhood to other doves, 
whose notes, like these, were pure and sweet. Home memories, long banished 
from his breast, returned. The image of his mother stood before him. Those 
little doves, still uttering their low, pure, inoffensive note, seemed like the far-oft' 
echoes of every sacred word of devout faith, of pure precept, of generoiis feeling, 
which in happier years had reached his car. His heart was uttei'ly stibduod. 
The stern pride of manhood, and the callous pride of sin, gave w&j. A powerful 
tide of contrition swept away all evil l>arriers. Bitter tears of penitence fell upon 
the stone on which his head rested. It was the turning point of life. He arose 
from the rock resolved to retrace his steps — to return to better things. Tlie reso- 
lution was adhered to. He broke away from his wicked courses, thrust temptation 
aside, returned to his native soil to lead a life of penitence and honest toil. Years 
later, a stranger came to his cabin, in the wild forests of the southern country — 
a man venerable in mien, shrewd and kindly in covintenance — wandering through 
the woods on j)leasant errands of his own ; the birds of the region were his object. 
Tlie inmate of the cabin had much to tell on this subject; gradually, as the two were 
thrown together in tlie solitude of the forest, the heart of the penitent opened to his 
companion. He avowed that he loved the birds of heaven ; he had cause to love 
them — the doves especially ; they had been as friends to him ; they had been with 
him, they had spoken to his heart, in the most solemn hour of life ! Then came 
that singular confession. The traveller was Audubon, the great ornithologist, who 
has left on record in his works the striking incident. In olden time, what a beau- 
tiful liallad would have been written on such a theme : fresh and free as the breeze 
of the forest, sweet and plaintive as the note of the dove ! 

" The Red Rover" is most completely a book of the sea — as much so as "The 
Mohicans" is a tale of the forest. Tlie whole drama is almost entirely enacted 
on the ocean. The curtain rises in port ; but the varied scenes, so full of nauti- 
cal interest, and succeeding each other in startling raj^iditj', are wholly unfolded 
on the bosom of the deep. It is believed that there is scarcely another book in 
23 



178 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



English litLTuture so essentiallj' marine in spirit. It is like some material picture 
of the sea, drawn by a master hand, where tlie eye looks abroad over the rolling 
waves, where it glances at the sea-bird fluttering amid the spray, and then rests 
upon the gallant ship, with swelling canvas, bending before the breeze, until the 



land 



)cliui(l us, am 



1 th 



beneath our own feet, are forgotten. In the Eover, 



the ditferent views of the ocean, in majestic movement, are very noble, while the 
two vessels which carry the heart of the narrative with them come and go with 
wonderful ]i<>wcr and grace, guided by the hand of one who was both pilot and 
poet in his own luiture. The love story, as usual in the novel of that period, and 
that particular class, is insigniticant, though " (Ti>rtrude" is certainly very pretty 
and proper, which is much more than one would venture to aver of many heroines 
of the present hour. In reality, however, our worthy friends Dick Fid, that 
arrant old t\)retopman, and his comrade, Negro S'ip, are the true hn-ers of the 
narrative ; and most worthy and most real they are — the last, indeed, is a noble 
creature, a hero mider the skin of Congo. As for Wilder, the author professed 
to oM'e him an apology for having thrciwn a sufficiently clever fellow^ and an 
honorable man no doubt, into a position slightly erpiivoeal ; lu^ declared himself, 
however, Aery much indebted to a friendly critic who saw much to admire in the 
course jmrsued by the young lieutenant — this cmchat of the obliging reviewer 
relieving the author's mind, as he avowed, of a great weight of responsibility on 
that particular point ! 




The book was very rapidly written, within some three or four months, during 
the summer of 1827. The writer was then living in the small village of St. 
Ouen, near Paris, occupying a pleasant comitry house on the banks of the Seine, 



THE RKD ROVER. j-g 

adjuiuiug a small chateau where Madame de Stael had passed much of her time, 
at the period -when M. Xeekar was in power. The village itself had little indeed 
to recommend it, being insignificant in every way, but the house was one the 
writer much enjoyed, from its spacious rooms, beautiful garden and shrubbery, all 
shut in within gray walls fourteen feet in height, a little blooming paradise in 
itself, like so inauy similar gardens on the outskirts of the ancient cities of Europe. 
A broad terrace lay at the end of the garden, overhanging the river, which in 
itself could boast of little beauty, broad and brown, seldom enlivened even by a 
sail-boat ; a wide extent of beautiful plain lay beyond, bounded by fine bold 
hills, teeming with gray villages and hamlets. A pleasant summer-house, or 
j?aviUon, stood at one extremity of the terrace, and here many pages of "The 
Eed Rover"' were wi-itten. A few passages from letters of this period are given : 

" One of our great amusements is to watch the living life on the river ; there 
is no still life in France. All the washerwomen of the village assemble, three 
days in the week, beneath our terrace, and a merrier set of grisettes is not to be 
found in the neighborhood of Paris. They chatter, and joke, and splash, and 
scream from morning to night, lightening the toil by never-ceasing good humor. 
Occasionally an enormous scow -like barge is hauled up, against the current, by 
stout horses, loaded to the water's edge, or one without freight comes dropping 
down the stream, nearly tilling the whole river as it floats broad-side to. There 
are three or four islands opposite, and now and then a small boat is seen paddling 
among them. We have even tried punting ourselves, but the amusement was 
soon exhausted. Xot long since I passed half an hour on the terrace, an amused 
witness of the perils of a voyage across the Seine in a punt. The adventurers 
were a bourgeois, his wife, sister, and child. Honest Pierre, the waterman, had 
conditioned to take the whole party to the island opposite, and to retiu-n them 
safe to the main for the modicum of five sous. The old fox invariably charged 
me a franc for the same service. There was much demurring and many doubts, 
about encountering the risks ; and more than once the women would have 
receded had not the man treated the matter as a trifle. He aflirmed ^parole 
(Vhonneur that his father had crossed tlie Loire a dozen times, and no harm had 
come of it ! Tliis encouraged them, and with many petty screams they finally 
embarked. The punt was a narrow scow that a ton weight would not have dis- 
turbed, the river was so low and sluggish that it might have two-thirds of the 
distance, and the width was not three hundred feet. Pierre protested that the 
danger was certainly not worth mentioning, and away he went, as philosophical 
in appearance as his punt. The voyage was made in safety ; but the bows of 
the Ijoat had touched the shore on its return before the passengers ventured to 



liH) PAGES AND PICTURES. 

smile. Tlic excursion, like most travelling, was likely to be most ])roductive of 
happiness liv the i-eeoUectious, But the M'ouien were no sooner landed, than that 
rash adventurer, the husband, brother, and father, seized an oar, and began to ply 
it with all his force. He wished to be able to tell his confreres of the Rue 
Montmartre hoM' a punt might be rowed. l*ierre had landed gallantly to assist 
the ladies, and the boat, I'elieved of its weight, slowly yielded to the impulse of 
the oar, and inclined its bows from the land. ' Oh, Edouard ! nion niari ! mon 
frere I — cpie fais-tu V exclaimed the ladies. ' Ce n'est rien,' returned the man, 
puffing, and giving another lusty sweep, by which he succeeded in forcing the 
punt fully twenty feet from the shore. ' Edouard, cher Edouard !' ' Laissez moi 
m'amnser ! — je m'amuse ! je m'amnse !' cried the husband in a tone of indig- 
nant remonstrance. But Edouard, a light, sleek little epicier, of about five-and- 
tliirty, had never heard that an oar on each side Avas necessary in a boat, and the 
harder he pulled the less likely was he to regain the shore. Of this he now began 
to be convinced, as he whirled more into the centre of the current ; his ciforts 
became really frantic ; his imagination probably painting the perils of a distant 
voyage in an uidcnown bark, to an unknown lan<l, and all without food or com- 
f)ass ! The women screamed. The louder they cried, the more strenuously ho 
persevered, plying vigorously with both arms his single oar, and crying, ' Laissez 
nioi m'amuser ! je m'amnse ! je m'amnse !' By this time the persjjiration was 
streaming from his face. I called to the iniperturbal)le Pierre, who stood m 
silent admiration of his punt playing such antics, and desired him to tell the man 
to put his oar on the bottom, and push his boat ashore. ' Oui, monsieur!' said 
the rogue, with a leer, for he remembered the francs, and we soon had our adven- 
turer safe on te7'7'a jirma again. Then began the tender expostulations, the 
aifectionate reproaches, and the kind injunctions for the truant to remember that 
he was a husl>aiid and a father. Edouard, secretly cursing the punt and all rivers 
ill his heart, made light of the matter, however, protesting to the last that he 
had been amnsing himself. 

" We have had •Aj'ete, too ; for every village in the vicinity of Paris has ii&fete. 
The square was filled with whirligigs and flying horses, and all the ingenious con- 
trivances of the French to make and to spend a sous pleasantly. There was service 
in the parish chnrch, at which our neighbors sang in a style lit for St. Peter's ; 
and the villagers danced quadiilles on the green, with an air that would be 
thought fine in many a country drawing-room. I enjoy all this greatly. We 
have also visited Enghien and Moiitinorenci. The latter, as you know already, 
stands on the side of a low mountain, in plain view of Paris. It is a town of some 
size, with very uneven streets, some of them being actually sharp acclivities, and 



THE RED ROVER. jgj 

a Gothic church that is seen from afar, and that is -well worth vicAving near by. 
These quaint edifices aiford us deep delight by their antiquity, architecture, size, 
and pious histories. What matters it to us, how much or how little superstition 
may blend with the rites, when we know and feel that we are standing in a nave 
that has echoed with orisons to God for a thousand years ? This of Montmorenci 
is n(_)t quite so old, however, having been partially rebuilt some three centuries 
since. Dulaure, a severe judge of aristocracy, denounces the pretensions of 
the Montmorencis, to be the premiers harons chretiens ; affirming that they 
were neither the first barons nor the first Christians, by a great many. He says 
tliat the extravagant title has most probably been a war-cry in the time of 
the crusaders. According to his account of the family, it originated, about the 
year 1008, in a certain Burchard, who, proving a bad neighbor to the Abbey 
of St. Denis, the vassals of which he was in the habit of robbing, besides now 
and then despoiling a monk, the king caused his fortress in the Isle St. Denis 
to be razed ; after which, by a treaty, he was put in possession of the mountain 
hard by, with permission to erect another hold, near a fountain, at a place called 
in the charters Montmorenciacum. Hence the name and the family. This writer 
thinks that the first castle must have been built of wood ! AYe took a road that 
led us iq) to a blufl^ on the mountain, behind the town, where we obtained a new 
and very peculiar view of Pai-is and its environs. The French towns have no 
straggling suburbs. A few wine-houses, to save the octroi, are built near the 
gates, conqjactly, as in the town itself, and there the buildings cease as suddenly 
as if pared down by the knife. Tlie fields touch the walls in many places ; 
between St. Ouen and the guingeUes at the Barriere de Clichy, a distance of two 
miles, there is but one solitary building. A wide plain separates Paris on this 
side from the mountains, and of course our view extended across it. Tlie num- 
ber of villages was absolutely astounding. Although I did not attempt counting 
them, I should think not fewer than a hundred were in sight, all gray, pictur- 
esque, and clustering round the high nave, and high church-tower, like chickens 
gathering beneath the wing. The day was ch)uded, and the handets rose from 
their beds of verdure, sombre but distinct, with their faces of wall now in subdued 
light, and now quite shaded, resembling the glorious darks of Pembrandt's pictures. 
"I am often in the saddle since our removal to St. Ouen. I first commenced 
exploring in the cabriolet, with my wife for a companion, during which time, 
several pretty drives, of whose existence one journeying along the great roads 
would form no idea, were discovered. At last, as these became exhausted, I 
mounted, and pricked into the fields. The result has been a better knowledge of 
the details of ordinary rural life, in this country, than a stranger would get by a 



182 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

residence of years after the ordinary faslii<:>n. I found tlie vast plain intersected 
bv roads as intricate as the veins of tlic liuniau body. Tlie comparison is not 
unapt, by the way, and may be even carried out much further ; for the grandes 
routes can be compared to the arteries, the chemins vicinmix, or cross-roads, to 
the veins, and tlie innumerable paths that intersect the open fields in all 
directions, to the mure minute blood-vessels, circulation being the object common 
to all. I mount my horse and gallop into the fields at random, merely taking 
care not to quit the paths. By the latter, one can go in almost any direction ; and 
as they are very winding, there is a certain pleasure in following their sinuosities, 
doubtful whither they tend. Much of the plain is in vegetables, for the use of 
Paris ; but there are occasional vineyards and fields of grain. Tlie weather has 
become settled and autumnal, and is ecpially without the chilling moisture of 
winter, or the fickleness of the spring. The kind-hearted peasants see me pass 
among them without distrust, and my salutations are answered with cheerfulness 
and civility. One of my rides is over the plain that lies l)etween St. Ouen and 
Montmartre, ascending the latter by its rear to the windmills that, night and day, 
are whirling their ragged arms over the capital of France. A view from this 
height is like a glimpse into the pages of history ; for every foot of land it com- 
mands, and more than half the artificial accessories, are pregnant with the past. 
Looking down into the fissures between the houses, men appear like the mites 
they are ; and one gets to have a philosophical indifference to liuman vanities 
by obtaining these bird's-eye views of them in the mass. It was a hapj^y tliought 
that first suggested the summits of mountains for religious contemplation. The 
cathedral of JSTotrc Dame should have been reared on this noble and isolated 
height, that the airs of heaven might whisper through its fane, breathing chants 
in honor of God." 




Tlie scene of "The Red Rover," as the reader is already aware, lies at New- 
port. After leaving the navy, Avhile living at Angevine, Mr. Cooper became in- 
terested in a whaling ship, as one of its owners. The name of this ship was the 



T H K RED HOVER. 



183 



" Union ;" lier pent was Sag Harbor, bnt on several occasions she made short 
trips for repairs, or other purposes, to different points of the coast, and in two or 
three instances, more probably from pleasure tlian any other motive, Mr. Cooper 
played skipper as she passed to and fro under his direction. One of these trips 
carried him to Xewport. He was much pleased with the spot, and some years 
later laid the opening scene of "The Rover" in that port. Of course he had 
explored tlie famous ruin, which not even the genius of romance, however, could 
induce him to see in any other light than that of a windmill. The reader is 
probably already familiar with the deed which degrades tlie old mill from the 
dignity of temple or fastness to tlie hundjle duties of agricultural labor in behalf 
of the nearest farmer ; and he has also, no doubt, made merry over that very 
clever and rather wicked Yankee jeu (T esprit which so sadly bewildered the very 
venerable Society of Antiquaries at Copenhagen. 

A pleasant little gift was made to the author of " Tlie Red Rover" not long 
after its publication, by some gentlemen of Newport. It would seem that the 
keel of the '' Endeavor," the famous exploring ship of Cooke, after going i-ouiid 
the world, found its way into J^ewport harbor ; a box, bearing a silver plate and 
engraving on its lid, was made from this wood, black as ebony with age and 
adventure, and sent to France to the \vi-iter, wlio was much gratified by the 
friendly remembrance. 

In one of Sir Walter Scott's works, which appeared subsequently to " The 
Red Rover," allusion is made to a famous corsair of olden times, whose craft bore 
the same name. So far, however, as any previous knowledge of it may go, this 
name was original with Mr. Cooper. Of the old Scotch corsair he had never 
heard. The alliterations alone naturally suggested the title. 





THE WRECK OF THE ROYAL CAROLINE. 



" It might be done !" muttered our adventurer ; " it miglit be done ! A few busy 
hours would do it, with this wind. Mr. Earing !" — 

Tlie mate was instantly at his elbow. WUder pointed to the dim object to leeward, 
and, handing him the glass, desired that he would take another view. Each looked, in 
his turn, long and closely. 

" He shows no more sail !" said the commander, impatiently, when his own pro • 
longed gaze was ended. 

" Not a cloth, sir. But what matters it, to such a craft, how much canvas is spread, 
or how the wind blows ?" 

" Earing, I think there is too much southing in this breeze ; and there is more 
brewing in yonder streak of dusky clouds on our beam. Let the ship fall off a couple 
of points, or more, and take the strain off the spars by a pull upon the weather 
braces." 

The simple-minded mate heard the order with an astonishment he did not care to 
conceal. There needed no explanation, to teach his experienced faculties, that the 
effect would be to go over the same track they had just passed, and that it was, in 
substance, abandonuig the objects of the voyage. He presumed to defer his com- 
phance, in order to remonstrate. 

" I hope there is no offence for an elderly seaman, like myself, Captain Wilder, in 
venturing an opinion on the weather," he said. " When the pocket of the owner is 
interested, my judgment approves of going about, for I have no taste for land that the 
wind blows on, instead of off. But, by easing the ship with a reef or two, she would 
be jogging seaward ; and all we gain would be clear gain ; because it is so much off 
the Hatteras. Besides, who can say that to-morrow, or the next day, we sha'n't have 
a puff out of America, here at north-west ?" 



THE WRECK OF THE ROYAL CAROLINE. 185 

"A couple of points fall oil", and a pull ujion your weather-braces," said Wilder, 
with staitling quickness. 

It would have exceeded the peaceful and suhmissive temperament of the honest Ear- 
ing to have delayed any longer. The orders were given to the inferiors ; and, as a matter 
of course, they were obeyed — though ill-suppressed and portentous sounds of discontent, 
at the iindetermuied, and seemingly unreasonable, changes in their officer's mind might 
have been heard issuing from the mouths of Xighthead and other veterans of the crew. 

But to all these symptoms of disaffection Wilder remauied, as before, utterly in- 
different. If he heard them at all, ho either disdained to j-ield them any notice, or, 
guided by a temporizing policy, he chose to appear unconscious of their import. In 
the mean tune, the vessel, like a bird whose wing had wearied with struggling against 
the tempest, and which inclines from the gale to dart along an easier course, gUded 
swiftly away, cjuartering the crests of the waves, or sinking gracefully into their 
troughs, as she yielded to the force of a wind that was now made to be favorable. 
The sea rolled on, in a direction that was no longer adverse to her course ; and, as she 
receded from the breeze, the quantity of sail she had spread was no longer found 
trying to her jjowers of endurance. Still she had, in the opinion of all her cre^^■, quite 
enough canvas exposed to a night of such a portentous aspect. But not so in the judg- 
ment of the stranger who was charged with the guidance of her destinies. Li a voice 
that still admonished his inferiors of the danger of disobedience, he commanded several 
broad sheets of studding-sails to be set, in quick succession. Urged by these new 
impulses, the ship went careering over the waves, leading a train of foam in her track 
that rivalled, in its volume and brightness, the tumbling summit of the largest swell. 

When sail after sail had been set, until even Wilder was obliged to confess to 
himself that the " Royal Cai'oline," stanch as slie was, would bear no more, our 
adventurer began to pace the deck again, and to cast his eyes .about him, in order to 
w.atch the fruits of his new experiment. The change in the course of the Bristol trader 
had made a corresponding change in the apparent direction of the stranger, who yet 
floated in the horizon like a diminutive and misty shadow. Still the imerring compass 
told the watchful mariner that she contmued to maintain the same relative position as 
when first seen. No effort, on the part of WUder, could aj)parontly alter lier bearing 
an inch. Another hour soon passed away, during which, as the log told him, the 
" Caroline" had rolled through more th.in three leagues of wafer, and still there lay 
the stranger in the west, as though it were merely a lessened shadow of herself, east by 
the " Caroline" upon the distant .and dusky clouds. An alteration in his course ex- 
posed a broader surfoce of his canvas to the ej'es of the spectators, but in nothing 
else was there any ^-isible change. If his sails had been materially increased, the dis- 
tance and the obscurity prevented even the understanding Earing from detecting it. 
Perh.ips the excited mind of the worthy mate was too much disposed to believe in 
the miraculous powers possessed by his unaccountable neighbor, to admit of the full 
M 



186 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

exercise of his experienced faculties on the occasion ; but oven Wilder, who vexed his 
sight, in often-repeated examinations, was obliged to confess to himself that the stranger 
seemed to glide across the waste of waters more like a body floating in the air, than a 
ship resorting to the ordinary expedients of mariners. 

Mrs. Wyllys and her charge had, by this time, retired to their caliin ; the former 
secretly felicitating herself on the jarospect of soon quitting a vessel that had com- 
menced its voyage under such sinister circumstances as to have deranged the equi- 
liljrium of even her well-governed and highly-disciplined mind. Gertrude was left in 
ignorance of the change. To her uninstructed eye, nil appeareil the same on the 
wilderness of the ocean; Wilder having it in his power to alter the direction of his 
vessel as often as he pleased, without his fairer and more youthful jjassenger being any 
the wiser for the same. 

Not so, however, with the intelligent commander of the " Caroline" himself. To 
him there was neither obscurity nor doubt, in the midst of his midnight path. His 
eye had long been familiar with every star that rose from out tlie waving bed of the 
sea, to set in another dark and ragged outline of the element ; nor was there a blast 
that swept across the ocean, that his burning cheek could not tell from what quarter 
of the heavens it poured out its power. lie knew, and understood, each inclination 
made by the bows cif his sliip; his mind kept even jiace with her windings and 
turnings, in all her trackless wanderings ; and he had little need to consult any of the 
accessories of his art, to tell liim what course to steer, or in what manner to guide the 
movements of the nice machine he governed. Still was he miable to explain the 
extraordinary evolutions of the stranger. His smallest change seemed rather antiei- 
jjated than followed ; and his hopes of eluduig a vigilance that proved so watclrful, 
were baffled by a focility of manoeuvringj and a superiority of sailing, that really began 
to assume, even to his intelligent eye, the appearance of some imaceountable agency. 

While our adventurer Avas engaged in the gloomy musings that such impressions 
were not ill adapted to excite, the heavens and the sea began to exhibit another 
aspect. The briglit streak which had so long hung along the eastern horizon, as though 
the curtain of the firmament had been slightly opened to admit a passage for the winds, 
was now suddenly closed ; and heavy masses of black clouds began to gather in that 
quarter, until vast volumes of the va])or were ])iled u])on the water, blending the two 
elements in one. On the other hand, the dark canopy lifted in the west, and a long 
belt of lurid light was shed over the view. In this flood of bright and portentous mist 
the stranger still floated, though there were moments when his faint and fanciful out- 
lines seemed to be melting into thin aii'. 

Our watchful adventurer was not lilind to these well-known and sinister omens. 
No sooner did the peculiar atmosphere by which the mysterious image that he so often 
examined Avas suddenly surrounded, catch his eye, than his voice was heard in the 
clear, powerful, and exciting notes of warning. 



THE WRECK OF THE ROYAL CAROLINE. Ig^ 

"Stand by," he called aloud, "to in all studding sails! Down with them!" he 
added, scarcely giving his former words tune to reach the ears of his subordinates. 
" Down with every rag of them, fore and aft the slnj) ! 3Ian the topgallant clew-lines, 
Mr. Earing. Clew up, and clew down ! In with every thing, cheerily, men ! In !" 

This was a language to which the crew of the " Caroline" were no strangers, and 
one which was doubly welcome ; since the meanest seaman of them all had long 
thought that his unknown commamler had been heedlessly trifling with the safety of 
the vessel, by the hardy manner in which he disregarded the wild symptoms of the 
weather. But they undervalued the keen-eyed vigilance of Wilder. He had certainly 
driven the Bristol trader through the water at a rate she had never been known to 
have gone before ; but, thus far, the facts themselves attested in his fixvor, since no 
injury was the consequence of what they deemed his temerity. At the quick, sudden 
order just given, however, the whole ship was instantly in an uproar. A dozen seamen 
called to each other, from different parts of the vessel, each striving to lift his voice 
above the roaring ocean; and there was every appearance of a general and inextricable 
confusion; but the same authority which had aroused them, thus unexpectedly, into 
activity, ])roduced order from their ill-directed though vigorous efforts. 

Wilder had spoken, to awaken the drowsy, and to e.xcite the torpid. The instant 
he found each man on the alert, he resumed his orders, with a calmness that gave a 
direction to the powers of all, but still with an energy that he well knew was called 
for by the occasion. The enormous sheets of duck, which had looked like so many 
light clouds in the murky and threatening heavens, were soon seen fluttering wildly, as 
they descended from their high places ; and, in a few minutes, the ship was reduced to 
the action of her more secure and heavier canvas. To eifect this object, every man 
in the ship had exerted his powers to the utmost, under the guidance of the steady but 
rajiid mandates of their commander. Then folio «ed a short and apprehensive breathing 
pause. Every eye was turned toward the quarter where the ominous signs had been 
discovered ; and each individual endeav(^red to read their import, with an intelligence 
corresjiondent to the degree of skill he might have acquired, during his particular 
period of service, on that treacherous element which was now his home. 

The dim tracery of the stranger's form had been swallowed by the flood of misty 
light, which, by this time, rolled along the sea like driftuig vapor, semi-pellucid, preter- 
natural, and seemingly tangible. The ocean itself appeared admonished that a quick 
and violent change was nigh. The waves had ceased to break in their former foaming 
and brilliant crests ; but black masses of the water were seen lifting their surly summits 
against the eastern horizon, no longer relieved by their scintillating brightness, or 
shedding their own peculiar and lucid atmosphere around them. The breeze which 
had been so fresh, and which had even blown, at times, with a force that nearly 
ainounted to a little gale, was hilling and becoming uncertain, as though awed by the 
more violent power that was gathering along the borders of the sea, in the direction 



188 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

of the iieigliboriug contiuent. Each moment, the eastern puffs of air lost their strength, 
and became more and more feeble, xmtil, in an incredibly short period, the heavy sails 
"were heard flapping against the mast — a frightful and ominous calm succeeding. At 
this instant, a glancing, flashing gleam lighted the fearful obscurity of the ocean ; and 
a roar, like that of a sudden burst of thunder, beflowed along the waters. The seamen 
turned their startled looks on each other, and stood stupid, as though a \yarning had 
been o-iven, from the heavens themselves, of what was to follow. But their calm and 
more sao-acious commander put a diflerent coustructiuii on the signal. His lip curled, 
in high professional pride, and his mouth moved rajiidly, while he muttered to himself, 
with a species of scorn — 

" Does he think we sleep ? Aye, he has got it himself, and would open our eyes 
to what is coming ! What does he imagine we have been about, since the middle 
watch was set ?" 

Then Wilder made a swift turn or two on the quarter-deck, never ceasing to bend 
his <piick glances from one quarter of the heavens to another ; from the black and 
lulling water on wliich his vessel was rolling, to the sails; and from his silent and pro- 
foundly expectant crew, to the dim lines of spars that were waving above his head, 
like so many pencils tracing their curvilinear and wanton images over the murky 
volumes of the superincumbent clouds. 

" Lay the after-yards square !" he said, in a voice which was heard by every man 
on deck, though his words were apparently spoken but little above his breath. Even 
the creaking of the blocks, as the spars came slowly and heavily round to the indicated 
position, contributed to the imposing character of the moment, and sounded, in the 
ears of all the instructed listeners, like notes of fearful preparation. 

"Haul up the courses !" resumed Wilder, after a thoughtful, brief hiterval, with the 
same eloquent calmness of manner. Then, taking another glance at the threatening 
horizon, he added, ^\•ith emphasis, " Furl them — furl them both : away aloft, and hand 
your courses," he contumed, in a shout ; " roll them up, cheerily ; in with them, boys, 
cheerily ; in !" 

Tlie conscious seamen took their impulses from the tones of their commander. In 
a moment, twenty dark forms were seen leaping up the rigging, with the alacrity of so 
many quadrupeds ; and, in another minute, the vast and powerful sheets of canvas were 
effectually rendered harmless, by securing them in tight rolls to their respective spars. 
The men descended as swiftly as they had mounted to the yards ; and then succeeded 
another short and breathing jiause. At this moment, a candle would have sent its 
flame perpendicularly toward the heavens. The shi]i, missing the steadying power of 
the wind, rolled heavily in the troughs of the seas, which, however, began to be more 
diminutive at each instant ; as though the startled element v,'^s recalling, into the 
security of its own vast bosom, that portion of its particles which had, just before, 
been permitted to gambol so madly over its surface. The water washed sullenly along 



T H K WRECK OF THE ROYAL CAROLINE. Igg 

the side of the ship, or, as she laboring rose from one of her frequent falls into the 
hollows of the waves, it shot back into the ocean from her decks, in numberless little 
glittering cascades. Every hue of the heavens, every sound of the element, and each 
dusky and anxious countenance tliat was visible, hel])ed to proclaim the intense interest 
of the moment. It was in this brief niterval of expectation and inactivity that the 
mates again apj)roached their connnander. 

" It is an awful night, Captaui Wilder !"' said Earing, presuming on liis rank to bo 
the first of the two to speak. 

" I have known far less notice given of a shift of wind," was the steady answer. 

"We have had time to gather in our kites, 'tis true, sii* ; but there are signs and 
warnings, that come with this change, at which the oldest seaman has reason to take 
heed !" 

" Yes," continued Nighthead, in a voice that soimded hoarse and powerful, even 
amid the fearful accessories of that scene; "yes, it is no trifling commission tliat can 
call people, that I shall not name, out upon the water in such a night as this. It was in 
just such weather that I saw the ' Vesuvius' ketch go to a place so deep, that her own 
mortar woidd not have been able to have sent a bomb into tlie open air, had hands and 
fire been there fit to let it oft'!" 

"Aye ; and it was in such a time tliat tlie Greenlandman was cast njion the Orkneys, 
in as flat a calm as ever lay on the sea." 

" Gentlemen," said Wilder, with a peculiar and perhaps an ironical emphasis on the 
word, " what is it you would ha\'e ? There is not a breath of air stirring, and the 
sliip is naked to her topsails !" 

It would have been difficult fi)r either of the two malcontents to liave given a very 
satisfactory answer to this question. Both were secretly goaded by mysterious and 
superstitious apprehensions, that were powerfully aided by the more real and intelligible 
aspect of the night ; but neither had so far forgotten his manhood and his professional 
pride, as to lay bare the full extent of liis own weakness, at a moment when he was 
liable to be called iij)on for the exhibition of qualities of a far more positive and de- 
termined character. Still, the feeling that was uppermost Ijetrayed itself in the reply 
of Earing, though in an indirect and covert manner. 

"Yes, the vessel is snug enougli now," he said, "though eyesight has shown us all 
it is no easy matter to drive a freighted ship through the water as fast as one of your 
flying craft can go, aboard of which no man can say who stands at the helm, by what 
compass she steers, or what is her draught !" 

" Aye," resumed Nighthead ; " I call the ' Carohne' fixst for an honest trader, and 
few square-rigged boats are there, who do not wear the pennants of the kmg, that can 
eat her out of the Mdnd, or bring her into their wake, mth studding-sails abroad. But 
this is a time, and an hour, to make a seaman think. Look at yon hazy light, here, in 
with the land, that is coming so fast down upon us, and then tell me whether it comes 



1 90 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

from the coast of America, or wliethcr it comes from out of the stranger ■\vlio has heeii 
so long ruiming imder our lee, hut who has got, or is iast getting, the wind of us at 
last, and yet none here can say how or why. I have just this much, and no more, to 
say : give nie f(jr consort a craft whose captain I know, or give me none !"' 

" Such is your taste, Mr. Nighthead," said Wilder, coldly ; " mine may, by some 
accident, be very different." 

" Yes, yes," observed the more cautious and prudent Earing, " in time of war, and 
with letters of marque aboard, a man may honestly hope the sail he sees should have 
a stranger for her master ; or otlierwise he would ne\er fall in with an enemy. But, 
though an Englishman born myself, I should rather give the shij) in tliat mist a clear 
sea, seeing that I neither know her nation nor her cruise. Ah, Captain "Wilder, yonder 
is an awful siglit for the morning Avafch ! Often, and often, have I seen the sun rise in 
the east, and no harm done ; but little good can come of a day when the light first 
breaks in the west. Cheerfully would I give the owners the last month's 2>ay, hard 
as I have earned it with my toil, did I liut know mider \\hat flag yonder stranger 
sails." 

" Frenchman, Don, or Devil, yonder he comes !" cried Wilder. Then, turning 
toward the silent and attentive crew, he shouted, in a voice that was appalling by its 
vehemence and warning, "Let run the after-halyards! round with the fore-yard! round 
with it, men, with a will !" 

These were cries that the startled crew perfectly understood. Every nerve and 
muscle were exerted to execute the orders, in time to be in readiness for the approach- 
ing tempest. No man spoke ; but each expended the utmost of his jiower and skill 
iu direct and manly efforts. Nor was theie, in verity, a moment to h)se, or a particle 
of litunan strength expended here without a suflicieut object. 

The lucid and fearful-lookmg mist, which, for the last quarter of an hour, had been 
gathering ui the north-west, was now driving down upon them with the speed of a 
race-horse. The air had already lost the damp and peculiar feeling of an easterly 
breeze ; and little eddies were beginning to flutter among the masts — precursors of the 
coming squall. Then, a rusliing, roaring sound was heard moaning along the ocean, 
whose surface was first dimpled, next ruiSetl, and finally covered with one sheet of 
clear, wliite, and spotless foam. At the next moment, the power of the wind fell full 
upon the inert and laboring Bristol trader. 

As the gust approached. Wilder had seized the slight opportimity afforded by the 
changeful puffs of air, to get tlie shi]i as much as possible before the -wind ; but the 
sluggish movement of the vessel met neither the wishes of liis own impatience nor 
the exigencies of the moment. Her bows liad slowly and heavily fallen ofl' from the 
north, leaving her precisely in a situation to receive the first shock on her broadside. 
Happy it was for all who had life at risk in that defenceless vessel, that she was not 
fated to receive the whole weight of the tempest at a blow. The sails fluttered and 



THK WRECK OF THK ROYAL CAROLINE. 191 

trembled on their massive yards, bellying and collapsing alternately for a minute, and 
then the rushing wind swept over them in a hurricane. 

The " Caroline" received the blast like a stout and buoyant ship, yielding readily 
to its impulse, until her side lay nearly hicumbent on the element in which she floated 5 
and then, as if the fearful fabric were conscious of its jeopardy, it seemed to lift its 
reclining masts again, struggling to work its way heavily through the water. 

" Keep the helm aweather ! Jam it aweather, for your life !" shouted Wilder, 
amid the roar of the gust. 

The veteran seaman at the wheel obeyed the order with steadiness, but in vain he 
kept his eyes riveted on the margin of his head-sail in order to watch the manner the 
ship would obey its power. Twice more, in as many moments, the tall masts fell 
toward the horizon, waving as often gracefully upward, and then they yielded to the 
mighty pressure of the wind, until the whole machine lay prostrate on the water. 

" Reflect !" said Wilder, seizing the bewildered Earing by the arm, as the latter 
rushed madly up the steep of the deck ; " it is our duty to be calm : bring hither 
an axe." 

Quick as the thought which gave the order, the admonished mate complied, jump- 
ing into the mizzen-channels of the ship, to execute, with his own hands, the mandate 
that he well knew must follow. 

"Shall I cut?" he demanded, with uplifted arms, and in a voice that atoned for his 
momentary confusion, by its steadiness and force. 

" Hold ! Does the ship mind her helm at all ?" 

" Not an inch, sir." 

" Then cut," Wilder clearly and calmly added. 

A single blow sufticed for the discharge of the momentary act. Extended to the 
utmost powers of endurance, by the vast weight it u])held, the lanyard struck by 
Earing no sooner parted than each of its fello\\s snapped in succession, leaving the 
mast dependent on itself alone for the support of all its ponderous and complicated 
hamper. The cracking of the wood came next ; and then the rigging fell, like a tree 
that had been sapped at its foxmdation, the little distance that still existed between it 
and the sea. 

" Does she fall off?" instantly called Wilder to the observant seaman at the wheel. 

" She yielded a little, sir ; but this new squall is bringing her up again." 

" Shall I cut ?" shouted Earing from the main rigging, whither he had leaped, hke 
a tiger who had bounded on his prey. 

" Cut !" was the answer. 
A loud and imposuig crash soon succeeded this order, though not before several 
heavy blows hail been struck into the massive mast itself. As before, the seas 
received the tumbling maze of spars, rigging, and sails ; the vessel surging, at the same 
instant, from its recumbent position, and rolling for and heavily to windward. 



192 PAGES AND PIUTUKES. 

" She rights ! she rights !" exclaimed twenty voices which h;Rl been hitherto mute, 
in a suspense that involved life and death. 

" Keep her dead away !" added the still calm but deeply authoritative Aoiee of the 
young commander. " Stand by to furl the fore-topsail — let it hang a moment to drag 
the ship clear of the wreck — cut, cut — cheerily, men — hatchets and knives — cut icith 
aU, and cut (# all!" 

As the men now worked with the freshened vigor of revived hope, the ropes that 
still confined the fallen spars to the vessel were quickly severed ; and the " Caroline," 
by this time dead before the gale, appeared barely to toucli the foam that covered the 
sea, like a bird that was swift upon the wing skimming the waters. The wind came 
over the waste in gusts that rumbled like distant thunder, and with a power that 
seemed to threaten to lift the shij) and its contents from its proper element, to deliver 
it to one still more variable and treacherous. As a prudent and sagacious seaman had 
let fly the halyards of the solitary sail that remained, at the moment when the squall 
approached, the loosened but lowered topsail was now distended in a manner that 
threatened to drag after it the only mast which still stood. Wilder instantly saw the 
necessity of getting rid of this sail, and he also saw the utter impossibility of securing 
it. Calling Earing to his side, he pointed out the danger, and gave the necessary order. 

" Ton spar cannot stand sueli shocks much longer," he concluded ; " and, should it 
go over the bows, some fatal blow might be given to the ship at the rate she is 
moving. A man or two must be sent aloft to cut the sail from the yards." 

" The stick is bending like a willow whip," returned the mate ; " and the lower 
mast itself is sprung. There would be great danger in trusting a life in that top, while 
such wild squalls as these are breathing around us." 

"You may be right," answered Wilder, with a sudden conviction of the truth of 
what the other had said. " Stay you then here ; and, if any thing befall me, try to get 
the vessel into ])ort as far north as the Capes of Virginia at least ; on no account 
attempt Hatteras in the ]>resent condition of" 

"What would you do, Captain Wilder?" interrupted the mate, laying his hand 
powerfully on the shoulder of his commander, who, he observed, had already thrown 
his sea-cap on the deck, and was preparing to divest himself of some of his outer 
garments. 

"I go aloft, to ease the mast of that toi)sail, without which we lose the spar, and 
possibly the ship." 

" Aye, aye, I see that plain enough ; but shall it be said, another did the duty of 
Edward Earing? It is your business to carry the vessel into the Capes of Virginia, 
and mine to cut the topsail adrift. If harm comes to me, why, put it in the log, with a 
word or two about the manner in which I pl.aycd my part. That is always the best 
and most ])roj)er ejntaph lor a sailor." 

Wilder made no resistance, but resumed his watchful and reflecting attitude, with 



THE W R E K OP THE ROYAL CAROLINE. I93 

tlie simplicity of 0110 who had been too long trained to the discharge of certain obliga- 
tions himself, to manifest surprise that another slionld acknowledge their imperative 
character. In the mean time, Earing proceeded steadily to perform what he had just 
promised. Passing into the waist of the ship, he provided himself with a suitable 
hatchet ; and then, without speaking a sj-llable to any of the mute but attentive seamen, 
he sprang into the fore-rigging, c^•ery strand and ro|-)e-yarn of which was tightened by 
the strain nearly to snapping. The understanding eyes of his observers comprehended 
his intention ; and, with precisely the same pride of station as had tirged him to the 
dangerous undertaking, four or five of the older mariners jumped upon the ratlines, 
to mount with him into an air that apparently teemed with a hundred hurricanes. 

" Lie down out of that fore-rigging," shouted Wilder, througli a deck trumjjet ; 
"lie down, all but the mate, lie down!" His words were borne past the inattentive 
ears of the excited and mortified followers of Earing, but they failed of their effect. 
Each man was too much bent on his own earnest purpose to listen to the sounds of 
recall. In less than a minute, the whole were scattered along the yards, j)repared to 
obey the signal of their oftieer. The mate cast a look about him; and, perceiving 
that the time was comparatively favorable, he struck a blow upon the large rope that 
confined one of the angles of the distended and bursting sail to the lower yard. The 
effect was much the same as wonld be produced by knocking away the keystone of an 
ill-cemented arch. The canvas broke from all its fastenings with a loud explosion, and, 
for an instant, was seen sailing in the air ahead of the ship, as though sustained on the 
wings of an eagle. The vessel rose on a sluggish wave — the lingering remains of the 
former breeze — and then settled heavily over the rolling surge, borne down alike by 
its own weight, and the renewed violence of the gusts. At this critical instant, while 
the seamen aloft were still gazing in the direction in which the little cloud of canvas 
had disappeared, a lanyard of the lower rigging jsarted with a crack that even reached 
the ears of Wilder. 

" Lie down !" ho shouted fearfully through his trumpet ; " down by the backstays ; 
down for your lives ; every man of you, down !" 

A solitary individual, of them all, profited by the warning, and was seen gliding 
toward the deck with the velocity of the wind. But rope parted after rope, and the 
fatal snapping of the wood instantly followed. For a moment, the toweruig maze 
tottered, and seemed to wave toward every quarter of the heavens ; and then, jdelding 
to the movements of the hull, the whole fell, with a heavy crash, into the sea. Each 
cord, lanyard, or stay snapped, wlien it received the strain of its new jjosition, as though 
it had been made of thread, leaving the naked and despoiled hull of the " Caroline" to 
drive onward before the tempest as if nothing had occurred to impede its ju'ogress. 

A mute and eloquent pause succeeded this disaster. It appeared as if the elements 
themselves were appeased by their work, and something like a momentary lull in the 
awful rushing of the winds might have been fancied. Wilder sprang to the side of the 
25 



194 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

vessel, and distinctly beheld tlie victims, who still clung to their frail snpjiort. He even 
saw Earing waving liis hand, in adieu, with a seaman's lieart, and like a man wlio not 
only felt how desperate was his situation, hut one who knew how to meet his late with 
resignation. Then the wreck of spars, with all wiio clung to it, was swallowed np in 
the body of tlie frightful, preternatural-looking mist which extended on every side of 
them, from the ocean to the clouds. 

" Stand by, to clear away a boat!" shouted "Wilder, without pausing to tluiik of the 
impossibility of one's swimming, or of effecting the least good, in so violent a tornado. 

But the amazed and confounded seamen who remained needed not instruction in 
this matter. No man moved, nor was the smallest symptom of obedience given. 
The mariners looked wildly around them, each endeavoring to trace, m the dusky 
countenance of the other, his opinion of the extent of the evil ; but not a mouth was 
opened among them all. 

" It is too late — it is too late !" murmured Wilder to himself ; " hiunan skill and 
human efforts could not save them !" 

" Sail, ho !" Nighthead muttered at his elbow, in a ^oice that teemed with a species 
of superstitions awe. 

" Let him come on," returned liis young commander, bitterly ; " the mischief is 
read}- finished to his hands !" 

" Should yon be a mortal ship, it is our duty to the owners and the passengers to 
speak her, if a man can make his voice heard in this tempest," the second mate con- 
tinued, pointing through the haze at the dim object that was certainly at hand. 

" Speak her ! — passengers !" muttered Wilder, involuntarily repeating his words. 
" No ; any thing is better than speaking her. Do you see the vessel that is driving 
down upon xis so fast ?" he sternly demanded of the watchful seaman who stUl clung 
to the wheel of the " Caroline." 

" Aye, aye, sir," was the brief, professional reply. 

" Give her a berth — sheer away hard to port — jierhaps he may pass ns in the gloom, 
now we are no higher than our decks. Give the ship a broad sheer, I say, sir." 

The same laconic answer as before w^as given, and, for a few moments, the Bristol 
trader was seen diverging a little from the line in which the other approached ; but a 
second glance assured Wilder that the attempt Avas useless. The strange ship (and 
every man on board felt certain it was the same that had so lonsr been seen hanofinsr 
in the north-western horizon) came on, through the mist, with a swiftness that nearly 
equalled the velocity of the tempestuous Avinds themselves. Not a thread of canvas 
was seen on board her. Each line of spars, even to the tapering and delicate top- 
gallant-masts, was in its jilace, preserving the beauty and symmetry of the whole 
fabric ; but nowhere was the smallest fragment of a sail opened to the gale. Under 
her bows rolled a volume of foam, that was even discernible amid the universal 
agitation of the ocean ; and, as she came within sound, the sullen roar of the water 



THE WRECK OF THE ROYAL CAROLINE. I95 

might have been likened to the noise of a cascade. At first, the spectators 011 the 
decks of the " Caroline" believed they were not seen, and some of the men caUed 
madly for lights, in order that the disasters of the night might not terminate in the 
dreaded encounter. 

" No !" exclaimed Wilder ; " too many see us there already !" 

" No, no," muttered Nighthead ; " no fear but we are seen ; and by such eyes, too, 
as never yet looked out of mortal head !" 

The seamen paused. In another instant, the long-seen and mysterious ship was 
within a hundred feet of them. The very power of that wind, which was wont usually 
to raise the billows, now j)ressed the element, with the weight of mountains, into its 
bed. The sea was everywhere a sheet of froth, but no water swelled above the level 
of the surface. The instant a wave lifted itself from the security of the vast depths, 
the fluid was borne away before the tornado in driving, glittering spray. Along this 
frothy but comparatively motionless surface, then, the stranger came booming, with the 
steadiness and grandeur with which a dark cloud is seen to sail before the hurricane. 
No sign of life was anywhere discovered about her. If men looked out from their 
secret places upon the straitened and discomfited wreck of the Bristol trader, it was 
covertly, and as darkly as the tempest before which they drove. Wilder held his 
breath, for the moment the stranger drew nighest, in the very excess of suspense ; but, 
as he saw no signal of recognition, no hvunan form, nor any intention to arrest, if pos- 
Bible, the furious career of the other, a smile of exultation gleamed across his coun- 
tenance, and his lips moved rapidly, as though he found pleasure in being abandoned 
to his distress. The stranger drove by, like a dark vision, and, ere another minute, 
her form was beginning to grow less distinct, m a thickening body of the spray to 
leeward. 

" She is going out of sight in the mist !" exclaimed Wilder, when he drew his 
breath, after the fearful suspense of the few last moments. 

"Aye; in mist or clouds," responded Nighthead, who now kept obstinately at his 
elbow, watching with the most jealous distrust, the smallest movements of his unknown 
commander. 

" In the heavens, or in the sea ; I care not, provided she be gone." 

" Most seamen would rejoice to see a strange sail from the hull of a vessel shaved 
to the deck like this." 

"Men often court their destruction, from ignorance of their own interests. Let 
him drive on, say I, and pray I ! He goes four feet to our one ; and now I ask no 
better favor than that this hurricane may blow until the sim shall rise." 

Nighthead started, and cast an oblique glance, which resembled denunciation, at 
his companion. To his blunted faculties, and superstitious mind, there was profanity 
in thus invoking the tempest at a moment when the winds seemed already to be 
pouring out their utmost wrath. 



196 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



" This is a heavy squall, I will allow," he said ; " and such a one as many 
mariners pass whole Uves without seeing ; but he knows little of the sea who thinks 
there is not more wind where this comes from." 

" Let it blow !" cried the other, striking his hands together a little wildly ; " I pray 
only for wind !" 

All the doubts of Nighthead, as to the character of the young stranger who had so 
unaccountably got possession of the office of Nicholas Nichols, if, indeed, any remained, 
were now removed. He walked forward among the silent and thoughtful crew with 
the air of a man whose opinion was settled. Wilder, however, paid no attention to 
the movements of his subordinate, but continued pacing the deck for hours; now 
casting his eyes at the heavens, or now sending frequent and anxious glances around 
the limited horizon, while the " Royal Caroline" still continued drifting before 'the 
wind, a shorn and naked wreck. 





IX. 
THE WEPT OF WISH-TON-WISH. 



The smnmer of 1828 "was passed in Switzerland. Those were very liappy 
months. The sublime grandeur of the ancient mountains, and the loveliness of 
the pastoral valleys at their feet, far surpassed in the reality all previous con- 
ceptions of the same nature. The daily morning ride, or evening stroll, was 
rich in picturesque charm, while language could scarcely convey a full sense of 
the feeling aroused vhen climbing the more commanding heights, and behold- 
ing the wonders of Alpine glory revealed there. Tlie first glimpse of the hoary 
Alps which the American traveller received, was iinexpected at the moment : 

" The day was lovely, and I had persuaded to share my seat on the 

carriage-box. As we rounded the little height on which the ruin is seated (a 
ruined tower in Franche Comte, said to be a castle of Iloland), she exclaimed : 
' Wliat a beautifully white cloud !' Taking the direction from her finger, I saw 
an accurately-defined mass, that resembled the highest %vreath of a cloud whose 
volume lay concealed beyond the mountains of the Jura, which by this time were 
so near as to be qiiite distinct. There was something that was not cloudy, too, 
in its appearance. Its outline was like that of a chiselled rock, and its white- 
ness greatly surpassed the brilliancy of vapor. I called to the postillion, and 
pointed out this extraordinary object : 'Mont Blanc, monsieur !' We were, ac- 
cording to the maps, at least seventy miles from it, in an air line ! I shall never 
forget the thrill of that moment. There is a feelino; allied to the universal love 
of the mysterious that causes us all to look with pleasure at any distant object 
which insensibly leads the mind to the contemplation of things that are invisible. 
The imagination steals down the sides of distant peaks into the valleys, which it 



198 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

is apt to people with creatures from its stores of recollections, or, perhaps, from 
its own creative powers. This glimpse of the glacier, for it was only a glimpse, 
the shining mass settling hevoml the Jura, as Ave descended on a gallop toward 
Dole, transported us over a long line of road into the very heart of the coimtry 
toward which we were hastening. IVIont Blanc, it is true, is not in Switzerland, 
but it is a ])art of the same wonderful formation tluit renders Switzerland so 
remarkable, and the eye swept across two cantons, and half of Savoy, to take in 
this speck of aerial brightness. I never before so ardently longed for wings, 
though their possession used to be one of the most constant of my youthful 
aspirations." 

Berne was the destination of tlie travellei's. From motives of economy, and 
for the enjoyment of that cpiiet home-life which he always preferred, it was his 
habit, as soon as possible after reaching new ground, to secure some private dwell- 
ing for his little family band. In Europe such a step is easily taken, furnished 
lodgings and houses abounding everywhere. A modest country house, called 
La Lorraine, was soon secured. "We are in one of the pretty, little, retired 
villas that dot the landscape, and at the distance of ojdy half a mile from the 
town. The sinuous Aar glances between us, but it has burrowed so low in the 
earth that no part of it is visible until we stand on its very baidcs. Graceful 
footpaths wind among the fields, which are little encumbered with fences, or even 
hedges, and we have roads as narrow and good as those one sees in pleasure- 
grounds. Our house is of stone, about as large as one of the ordinary boxes of 
Manhattan Island, and on the whole sutEciently comfortable. A\'e found both 
house and furniture faultlessly neat." The position of La Lorraine was very 
quiet and retired, well shaded by lindens and other trees, and with its little trim 
garden and half-ruined fountain, its adjoining farm-house and barn-yard, 
thoroughly Swiss in all their details, was just the ground for children to roam 
over at will, in full enjoyment of a summer lioliday. Near by there was a com- 
mon, too, where hoops and jumping-ropes and kites could be used, and where 
parents and children often strolled together. From this common there was a 
very beautiful view of the Alps, wliicli indeed were always in sight from the 
cottage windows — a source of unfailing delight, but especially so during the 
evening hours. 

" I shall attempt to give you some notion of the two grandest aspects that the 
Alps, when seen from this place, assume. One of these appearances is often 
alluded to ; but I do not remember to have ever heard the other mentioned. The 
first is produced by the setting sun, whose rays, of a cloudless evening, are the 
parents of hues and changes of a singulai-ly lovely character. The lustre of the 



THE WEPT UF W I S II - T II \ - W I S H . lf)9 

glacier slowly retires, and is gradually succeeded by a tint of rose color ; which, 
falling on so luminous a body, produces a sort of roseate light — the whole of the 
vast range being mellowed, and subdued into indescribable softness. This appear- 
ance gradually increases in intensity ; varying on different evenings, however, 
according to the state of the atmosphere. At the very moment, perhaps, when 
the eye is resting most eagerly on this extraordinary view, the light vanishes. 
'No scenic change is more sudden than that which follows. All the forms remain 
unaltered ; but so varied in hue, as to look like the ghosts of mountains. You 
see the same vast range of eternal snow ; but you see it ghastly, and spectral. 
You famcy that the sj^irits of the Alps are ranging themselves before you. 
"Watching the peaks for a few minutes longer, the light slowly departs. Tlie 
spectres, like the magnificent images of the phantasmagoria, grow more and more 
faint, less and less material, until lost in the firmament. AYhat renders all this 
more tlu-illingly exquisite, is the circumstance that these changes do not occur 
until after evening has fallen on the lower world — giving, to the whole, the air of 
nature sporting, in the upper regions, with some of lier spare and detached 
materials. Tliis sight is far from uncommon. It is usually seen during the 
summer, in greater or less perfection, twice or thrice a week. The other view is 
much less frecpient. The Aar flows toward Berne in a north-west direction, 
through a valley of some width, and several leagues in length. To this fact the 
Bernese are indebted for their view of the Oberland Alps, which range themselves 
exactly across the mouth of the gorge, at the distance of forty miles in an air line. 
These giants are supported by a row of advanced sentinels, any one of which 
would be a spectacle in another country. One in particular, the Niesen, is 
distinguished by its conical form. It is nearly in a line with the Jungfrau, the 
virgin queen of the Oberland, and is some eight or ten miles in advance of the 
mighty range; though to the eye, at Berne, all these accessories appear tumbled, 
Avithout order, at the very feet of theii' principals. The height of the l^iesen is 
some eight thousand feet above the sea — rather higher than the tallest peak of the 
"WTiite Mountains. The Jungfrau rises, directly in the rear of this moimtain, 
more than a mile nearer to heaven. The day was clouded ; and as a great deal 
of mist was clinging to all the lesser mountains, the lower atmosphere was much 
charged with vapor. The cap of the Niesen was quite hid, and a wide pall of 
watery cloud entirely overhung the summits of the nearer range ; leaving, however, 
their broad sides misty, but quite visible. In short, the Niesen and its immediate 
neighbors looked like any other range of noble mountains whose heads were hid 
in the clouds. Tlio vapor miist have caused a good deal of refraction, for above 
these clouds rose the whole of the Obei'land Alps to an altitude which certainly 



200 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

seemed even greater than usual. Every peak, and all the majestic formation, was 
perfectly visible, tliougli the whole range appeared to be severed from the earth, 
and to float in air. The line of connection was veiled ; and, while all below was 
watery or enfeebled by mist, the glaciers threw liack the fierce light of the sun 
with powerful splendor. The separation from the lower world was made the 
more complete from the contrast between the sombre hues beneath, and the calm, 
but bright magnificence above. One had some difficulty in believing that both 
belonged to the same orb. The effect of the whole was to create a j^icture, of 
which I can give no other idea than by saying it resembled a glimpse through the 
windows of heaven at such a gorgeous but chastened grandeur as the imagination 
might conceive to suit the place. There were moments when the spectral aspect, 
just mentioned, dinnned the lustre of the snows, without impairing their forms, 
and no language can do justice to the snldimity of the effect. It was impossible 
to look at them without religious awe; and, irreverent though it may seem, I 
could hardly persuade myself I was not gazing at some of the sublime mysteries 
that lie beyond the grave." 

The nearer country, hill and dale, in the immediate neighborhood of La 
Lorraine was also charming:. The drives were of course beautifid : often alone 
narrow roads, smooth and even as garden-Avalks — amid open fields, rich and neat 
with the highest degree of culture, the passing wheel almost tou<^hing the crops, 
so narrow were tlie tracks. And then the Alps, ever in view, or at least always 
the hope of beholding them at the next turn, when some nearer hill or Avood shut 
out the grand panorama for a moment ! And the cottages, so excpiisitely rural 
and rustic, and local — with their broad, projecting roofs, and low balconies, and 
quaint inscriptions, rude in lettering, devout in meaning! How thrifty the whole 
aspect of things: a dilapidated cottage, or a carelessly tilled field, seeming blots on 
the fiiee of the land unknown in the good canton of Berne. Over these beautiful 
scenes the eye of the American traveller, eager, observant, and appreciative, Avan- 
dered with delight, gathering some fresh incident of interest from every evening 
drive. When harvest-time came, the traveller was very much intei-ested by the 
gleaners ; these poor people were spread through the grain-fields in large parties. 
They came chiefly from the mountains, where the land lies almost wholly in pasture ; 
and, for many, tlie little barley, or rye, or wheat, for their winter store, must be 
gathered wholly in that way, picked up by the ear, from the richer fields of the 
lowland farmers. Old and young, men, women, and children, they came flocking 
down from the Oberland in household parties, scattering themselves through the 
harvest-fields many a weary mile from their momitain homes. Their varied 
costumes were often faded and tattered, and yet pleasing, since the interest of 



THK WEPT UF W IS }r-TON -WI SH. 201 

iulu'i-itauco and jmilungcd local gi'owtii — liku that of the plants — lingered ahout 
each. Patising, one e^■ening, before a field where these poor people were 
gathered, Mr. Cooper counted one hundred and twenty-nine of thcni, young and 
old, men and women, in a field of less than six acres. We give an extract of this 
date : 

"The day after meeting this herd of gleaners, who, l)y the way, were of all 
ages, and both sexes, we went to Hindelbauk, to see the celebrated monument 
in the village churcli. The history of this monument has been often told, but it 
is so touchingly beaittiful that it will bear to be repeated. Ilindelbank is no 
more than a sequestered and insignificant hamlet, at the distance of two leagues 
from Berne. Tlie churcli also is positively one of the verj^ smallest and humblest 
of all the parish churches I remember to have seen in Europe. Small as it is, 
however, it contains the tomb of the Erlaclis, whose principal residence is at a 
short distance from the village. A German artist, of the name of Nahl, was em- 
ployed to execute something for this distinguished family, and, while engaged in 
the work, he took up his residence in the house of the parish priest, whose name 
was Langhans. Tlie good pastor had been recently married, and tradition hath it 
that his young wife was eminently beautiful. She died at the birth of her first 
child, and while the sculptor was yet an inmate of the family. Touched by the 
sorrow of his host, and ins})ired by the virtues and beauty of the deceased, Xahl 
struck out the idea of this monument at a heat, and executed it on the spot, as a 
homage to friendship and conjugal worth ; looking to the Erlachs alone for the 
vulgar dross through which genius too commonly receives its impiulses. We 
saw the chateau of tlie Erlachs, at a little distance on our right, before reaching 
the village. It is a house of no great size, but is historical on account of its con- 
nection with this ancient family. Tlie humble little church was readily opened, 
and we entered filled with expectation. A large, labored, and magnificent, but, 
I think, tasteless monument, nearly covered one side of the building. It was 
richly wrought in marbles of different colors, but was confused and meretricious, 
wanting certainly the simplicity that belongs to every thing of this nature that 
is truly admirable. I had come to the spot without particularly attending to the 
history of the pastor's family, expecting to see a piece of sculpttu-e of rare merit, 
without exactly knowino- what. At that moment I knew nothing of the Erlachs' 
having a tomb at Ilindelbank, and, seeing nothing but an exceedingly rustic and 
plain village church, which was nearly half occupied by this labored work of art, 
quite naturally supposed this was the object of our excui'sion. I was already 
endeavoring to dissect the confused details, in order to find out the grain of wheat 
among the heaps of tares, when I was called to the rest of the party. Tlie sexton 
26 



202 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

had ascended a little platform, at the liead of the i-hurch, which seemed to be 
covered with hoards thrown loosely on the joists. Raising one or two of these, 
the monument appeared below. An ordinary flat tombstone, with armorial 
bearings and inscriptions, lay at the depth of abont six inches below the floor. 
Tlie idea was that of the grave giving up its dead for judgment. The stone was 
rent longitudinally in twain, until near the head, where a fragment was so broken 
as to expose the faces and busts of those who were summoned to the resurrection. 
The child lies tranquilly on the bosom of its mother, as if its innocence M-ere 
passive, while the countenance of the latter is beaming with holy joy. One hand 
is a little raised, as if i-everently greeting her Redeemer. The sculpture is equal 
to the thought, and the artist, probably from the circTimstances of moulding the 
features after death, while he has preserved the beauty of a fine symmetry, has 
imparted to thera a look entirely suited to the mystery of the grave. These 
things too often savor of conceit ; and after the momentary feeling of wonder 
into which, jierhaps, you have been surprised is a little abated, the mind turns 
with greater pleasure to the more severe models of classic taste. Such is not the 
case with this extraordinary monument. It grows upon you by study, and its 
rare simplicity is quite as remarkable as the boldness and poetry of the conce2:)tion. 
Even the material, perishable and plain as it is, helps to sustain the interest, for 
it betrays the poverty which could not restrain, though it might trammel, genius. 
There it lay, in noble contrast to the more ostentatious sorrow of the Erlachs ! 
I would not have changed it into marble, if I could, although it is no more than 
the common friable sandstone of the adjoining hills, of a grayish-blue color, and 
of which half the houses in Berne are constructed. I have heard it said 
that the thought of tliis monument is not original. Fortius I will not vouch : 
but I think it has all the appearance of being produced under tlie pure 
inspiration of the imagination, quickened by strong generous feeling. One 
seldom sees or hears a particularly clever thing without setting about hunt- 
ing for the original ; ideas which are the most natural and beautiful usually 
striking us with tlic force of old acquaintances, on account of their fitness and 
truth. 

" There is a monument in Westminster Abbey, in which Death, in the form 
of a skeleton, appears opening the gates of a tomb, ready to strike his victim. 
This is a conceit of Roubilliac, and nothing but a conceit. The cund)rous allegory 
of this work can no more compare with the sublime and evangelical thought of 
Nahl, than the labored couplets of Racine can sustain a parallel with the vigor- 
ous images of Shakespeare. No work of art — not even the Apollo — ever pro- 
d\ieed so stronir an efi'ect on me as this monument, which — because the most 




' i!;ud Mtek stretclitn'. 
3 ^o foi-fhi' 



V hii^djn 



THE WEPT OF W I S H -T N -W I S H. 



203 



exquisite blending of natural sentiment with a supernatural and revealed future 
— I take to be the most subliiiif jiruduction of its kind in the world." 




At the foot of the Alps, a new ])ook was planned. Mind and memory, how- 
ever, turned atfectionatelv westward ; and scenes of home-life, incidents connected 
with the annals of his native soil, formed once more the materials selected for the 
work. As usual, it was no sooner planned than the first pages were written. 
The period and ground chosen were the early colonial time in Connecticut. Tlie 
American Puritan and the Indian were to be thrown together, while the chief 
point of interest is a child, a hively little girl, torn from her mother's arms, and 
borne away into the wilderness by the savage band : according to a custom 
prevailing througliout the tribes of northern America, the captive girl is formally 
adopted, and engrafted into a family of the red race. Years pass over ; 
the bereaved mother — a very beautiful character, colored with great truth, 
purity, and tenderness — lives drooping and mourning on the spot where the blow 
had fallen upon her head. The father — a fine and highly favorable picture of 
the colonist of that day and that ground — carries about with him, iinder a calm 
exterior, and beneath his stifle Puritan garb, a sad heart. Brother, and sister, and 
companions, grow to matiu"ity, and all throw many a yearning look backward, in 
memory of the lost sister, the Wept of Wish-ton-Wish. A fresh outbreak of the 
savages occurs : the lost girl returns to her father's roof one of the marauding 
band, the wife of a Narragausett warrior, the mother of an Indian boy. 



2(,j. PAGES AND PICTURES. 

Sndi was tlie hook planned and commenced in the little micarpeted study at 
La Lorraine. Long excursions, however, made in succession to some of the many 
points (if interest in the country alxiut him, interfered more than usual with the 
progress of his work. Occasionally he went ofl" through the more level cantons 
in a carriage or char-a-banc, with a part of liis family; at other times ho made 
excursions into the heart of the Alps, on foot, with a guide for his oidy com- 
panion. Always a good pedestrian, he enjoyed extremely these excursions on 
foot. While at Paris, a year or two earlier, he had undertaken to walk around 
the walls (jf that city, Avith an officer in the navy, an old comrade and messmate. 
Captain Wolcott Chauneey, for a companion, performing the feat in four hours. 
The distance was said to he, at that time, some eighteen miles. At length 
autumnal gusts l>egan to whistle through the linden-trees ahout La Lorraine, 
showers of snow fell upon the little garden ; it was declared expedient to move 
southward ere the Alpine passes were closed. A couple of voituriers were engaged 
to transport the party, after the usual fashion, to Florence ; Caspar, the princijjal 
of the two, acting a.sjwstillon-cn->'hi'f, had been a cuirassier of the first Napoleon's 
wars ; he had many a long tale of the camp to tell, and with much lonhom.ir, 
a hearty, jovial natTire, and perfectly respectful manner, was soon in high favor 
with his employer, who in later years frequently alluded to him. Tlie Lake of 
Geneva was reached. " A more ravishing view than that we now beheld can 
scarcely be inuigined. JSTearly the wliole of the lake was visible. The north 
shoi-e was studded with towns, towers, castles, and villages, for the distance of 
thirty miles ; the rampart-like rocks of Savoy rose, for three or four thousand 
feet, like walls, above the water, and solitary villages were built against their 
bases, in spots where there scarcely apjieared room to rest a human foot. The 
solemn, magnificent gorge, rather than valley, of the Rhone, and the river glit- 
teriuir like silver anions^ its meadows, were in the distant front, while the im- 
mediate foreground was composed of a shore whicli also had its walls of rocks, and 
its towns laved by the water, its castles, its hamlets, half-concealed by fruit-trees, 
and its broad, mountain bosona thrown into terraces to the elevation of two 
thousand feet, on which reposed almost every olijcct of rural art that can adorn a 
picture. The beauty of the panorama was singularly heightened by some thirty or 
forty large barks,- with latine sails, a rig peculiarly Italian, and which, to my eye, 
was redolent of the Mediterranean, a sea I had not beheld for twenty years. They 
were lying lazily on the glassy lake, as if placed there by Claude himself, to serve 
as models." 

The Simplon was crossed. The first glimpse of liaHj gave great delight : 
"Suddenly we l)urst upon a little verdant valley that gave us a foretaste of Italy. 



THE WEPT OF WISH-TON- WISH. 2()5 

Tlie valley widened, and, on one side, the mountain became less abrupt, in a way 
to admit of cultivation, and the abodes of men. Tlie habitable tract was very 
limited, being no more tlian a sharp acclivity of some two or three thousand acres ; 
but it was literally teeming with the objects of a rural civilization. Tlie whole 
cote was a leafy cloud of lovely foliage, above which peeped the roofs of cottages, 
wherever a cottage could stand. Tall, gavmt-looking church-towers rose out of 
this grateful forest. Again the mountains approached each other, and we went 
rolling down a gentle declivity for miles, through gorges less wild than those 
abo\'e, but always imposing and savage. Here the torrent was spanned by 
several beautiful bridges, that were to receive foot-passengers, or, at most, a 
packhorsc. They were of hewn stone, with pointed arches, and of extreme 
lightness and boldness. One or two were in ruins — a fact that bespoke their 
antirpiity, and contributed to their interest. At length the mountains terminated, 
and an open space appeared. A transverse valley spread itself athwart the jaws 
of tlie gorge, and a massive bridge was thrown across the torrent at right angles 
to our course. Old Caspar cracked his whip, and soon whirled us into an entirely 
new region. The country was still Alpine — the valley into Mdiicli we now entered 
being completely imbedded in sublime mountains ; but the severity of the scenery 
unaccountably disappeared, and was replaced by softer hues, and a gentler 
nature ; even the naked rocks appearing less stern and repulsive than those we 
had left on the banks of the Khone. The vegetation was more exuberant, and it 
had been less nipped by frosts ; the finiits were much more generous, and all the 
appliances of civilization were more abundant, and more genial. As we 
turned out of the gorge of the Doveria, into the valley of the Toccia, the carriage 
passed a huge column of marble, that lay, lialf-comi)leted, by the side of the rock 
whence it had been quarried. This was a tit emblem of Italy ; nor was its effect 
thrown away." 

Florence was the destination of the travellers. As usual, a temporary home 
was soon arranged. Tlie lodgings secured for the winter were in one of those 
old piles, half house, half fortalice, such as tlie warlike nobles of Florence were 
wont to build centuries ago, and which still fonii a severe feature in the aspect 
of that joyous and sunny city. Buildings which within are fidl of elegance and 
noble works of art, without throw a stern and frowning shade over the narrow 
streets. Tlie house in which the American traveller, with his family, had been 
received, belonged to a lady of the family of Eicasoli, a widow with two sons — 
the elder a page attached to the court of the Grand Duke, the second, a tonsured 
Abbe still iu his minority. The older brother, Banjn Ricasoli, is now achieving 
for himself a liighly honorable name, as the leader of the patriotic party in his 



206 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

native country. Mr. Cooper's residence in Florence was always rememliered by 
liim with great pleasure ; he enjoyed extremely the society into which he was so 
kindly received. The liigher Italian element of that society surpassed in intelli- 
gence, in activity of mind, and in elevated tone what he had anticipated, from 
the general condition of the country at that period. Among other gentlemen 
whom he met frequently, the late Marchese Capponi was remembered by him 
with especial and respectful regard, from his high personal character. Baron 
Poerio and the Cavalier Alessandro Poerio, exiles themselves, and the father and 
brother of the present distinguished Neapolitan exile of the same name, were 
frecpient visitors at his house ; the latter gentleman being a poet and a linguist, 
considered second only to Mezzofanti in acquirements of that nature. The Prince 
Napoleon, the elder brother of the present emperor, and the Princess Charlotte 
Bonaparte, he also saw frequently ; for the first Mr. Cooper had anticipated a 
brilliant career, from his character and talents, while for the princess he cherished 
a most sincere regard, in connnon with many triends she had already won in 
America. These are all now deceased. It was the delight of the American 
traveller to eidiven the hearthstone of the Casa Kicasoli with the cheery glow 
of wood fires, such as might have done honor to his paternal home, in the Otsego 
Hills ; through life a bright wood-fire, in cool weather, was a necessity for him — 
he was very critical in the art of laying the wood, and in nursing the bright 
blaze, in which his cheerful nature rejoiced. While the Italian servants held up 
their hands with horror at such waste of fuel, the friends who gathered about the 
hearthstone ■when the chill traraontana was blowing from the Apennines, all pro- 
fessed great admiration of this fashion, deemed by them especially American. 
Among those cheered by the firelight, and to whom its charm was no novelty, 
was one in whom Mr. Cooper soon learned to feel a deep interest — Mr. Horatio 
Greenough, the sculptor. 

Daily life now flowed in a double current. A traveller's pleasures filled up 
many hours. Mr. Cooper's enjoyment of works of art, painting, sculpture, 
and architecture, was very great ; the society of artists had always given him 
especial pleasure ; the antiquities and beautiful natural scenery of the country 
were of course full of interest, while many a graver thought was given to the 
cliaraeter and condition of the people, their life and education, and the govern- 
ment influencing both. To the native character of the Italians, in its better 
aspects, he was partial, believing them capable of far more than dui'ing the last 
centuries they have accomplished. But while throwing himself, with his usual 
zest and animation, into the outward movement of the hour, a portion of every 
iiioi'uing was given to his ])eii; an<l wide, indeed, was the difterence lietween the 



THE WEPT i^ W I S H - T U X - W I S U . 



207 




living groups among which he moved abroad, the gay, impulsive, laughing, 
singing, bi'own-skiuned Italians, and the demure, ideal, Puritan band which sur- 
i-ounded him when in his study in the Casa Tiicasoli. In all Italy, from the Alj^s 
to Mount Etna, the like of these could not be found — never had existed — the sijil of 
Italy could yield no such growth — their virtues and their vices belonged alike to 
a very diiferent zone of the moral world. The two currents, however, remained 
wholly distinct in the writer's mind ; the family of the Wish-ton- Wish were as 
clearly drawn as if the book had been written in the valley of the Connecticut, 
rather than on the banks of the Arno. Ere long the M'ork was sufficiently 
advanced for printing. Here, however, the author met with great and unforeseen 
difficulties. The tirst obstacle to be overcome was the censorship of the press. 
In Tuscany, however, the restraints of this nature were light compared to those in 
other parts of Italy, and the necessary permission to print was readily granted. 
To carry out the plan was a task much more difficult. There was no regular 
English printing establishment in Florence, and several eflbrts which were made 
to procure English compositors, and set them to woi-k in an Italian office, suc- 
cessively failed. Despairing of effecting his object, Mr. Cooper at length 
reluctantly determined to leave his family at Florence, and endeavor to make 
arrangements for printing at Marseilles. During the carnival he set out for 
Marseilles, following the beautiful road along the coast. A few extracts of that 
date are given : 



t> 



208 PAGES AND PICTURES. 



" Genoa lies at the base of a large cove, wliich has been converted into a tine 
harbor by nieaus of two moles. One (jnarter of the town actually stands ou low 
eliifs that are washed by the sea, which must sometimes throw its spray into the 
streets. Its ])(jsitioii consequently unites tlie several beauties of a gorgeous capital 
with all its works of art, the movement and bustle of a port, the view of a sea 
with passing ships and its varying aspects of calms and tempests, with a back- 
ground of stupendous hills ; for at this point the Alps send out those grand 
accessories to their magnificence, the Apennines. The place is fortified, and the 
nature of the ground requiring that the adjacent hill should be included, the 
enceinte is laro-e enough to contain all Paris. I took a horse and made the circuit 
of the walls. The day was mild, but bad passing clouds, and some of the views 
toward the interior were of an extraordinary character. A deep valley separated 
us from the works ; and there were several fine glimpses, in a sort of wild per- 
spective, among the recesses of the mountains. I scarcely remember a scene of 
more peculiar wildness, Ideuded with l)eauty, than some of these glimpses offered, 
tliough the passing cloud and tlie season ])erhaps contributed to the effect. The 
inland views resembled some of the backgrounds of the pictxu'es of Leonardo 
da Vinci. Indeed, it is only in Italy, and among its romantic heights, with their 
castle-like villages and towns, that one gets an accurate noti(.iu of the models that 
the older masters copied. Seaward tlie prospect was truly glorious. The day was 
mild, and twenty sail were loitering along, quaint in rig as usual, and Avalhnving 
to the heavy ground swell. Here I had almost a bird's-eye view of the town, 
port, and (_>ifing, with the noble range of coast southward, and a pile of purple 
mountains whose feet were lined with villages. * * I took the maUe-j>osfe, 
and left Genoa for Nice. The I'oad ran on the very margin of the sea, the carriage 
literally rolling along the beach. Many were the pretty little fishing and trading 
hamlets we gallopped through in this manner, and now and then we had a to\vn. 
The coast was fairly lined with them. Inland the mountains soon began to tower 
upward to an Alpine elevation. Imagination cannot portray bits of scenery more 
picturesque than some that offered on the beach. AVild ravines, down which 
broad and rapid torrents poured their contributions, ojjened toward the hills ; and 
bridges of singular construction and of great antiquity spanned these, in bold and 
im})osing flights. Many of those wide arches were half ruined. As for the 
beach, it was principally of sand, and wherever a hamlet occurred, it was certain 
to be lined with boats and feluccas, some lying on their bilges, and others shored 
lip on their keels, with perchance a sail or net spread to dry. How some of these 
crafts, vessels of forty or fifty tons, were got there in the absence of tides, and 
how they were to be got off again, exceeded my skill at conjecture ; the condtic- 



THE WEPT OF W I S H -T N - W I S H, 209 

teiir affirmed that they sailed upon tlie sands, and "wcndd sail off again when they 
wislied to put to sea ! Here and there a prettily-modelled felucca was on the 
ways. Altogether, it was an extraordinary passage, differing entirely from any I 
had ever made heforc. For several hours we travelled in darkness ; when day 
dawned it opened on an entirely different scene. There was no longer a beach ; 
the coast had become rocky and broken; tlie land was heaving itself up into 
gigantic forms, and <<n our right appeared Monte Finale, the last sunnnit of the 
Alps! Tlie huge background of mountains jirotects all this coast from the 
north winds, and the sun of a low latitude beating against it, joined to the bland 
airs of this miraculous sea, conspire to render all this region precocious. Even 
the palm was growing in one or two pla(!es, though early in March we felt all 
the symptoms of a young spring. This harmony between the weather and the 
views contributed largely to my pleasures. Soon after (piitting Mentone, the 
road began to wind its way across the broad and naked breast of a huge moim- 
tain. This was, in truth, the point where we crossed the Maritime Alps, the rest 
of the mounting and descending being merely coquetting on their skirts. Tlie 
town of Monaco appeared in the distance, seated on a low rocky promontory, 
with the sea laving one of its sides, and the other o]iening toward a pretty and 
secluded port. Tlie whole of this coast is as picturesque and glorious as the 
imagination can paint ; and then the associations, which are oriental, and some- 
times even scriptural, come in to throw a hue over all. I observed to-day a polacre 
I'ollina: at lier anchor, while boats were carrving off to her oil and olives from the 
spot where the latter had grown. As I sat leaning back in the carriage, the line 
of sight, by clearing the bottom of the carriage window, struck another vessel 
under her canvas, at the distance of half a league from the shore. We may 
have been, at the moment, a thousand feet above the sea. The panoramas seen 
from these advanced eminences were as magnificent as land and water could 
form — the more so from the hue of the Mediterranean, a tint eminently beautiful. 
Indeed, one who has seen no other sea but that which is visible from the American 
coast, can scarcely form a notion of the beauty of the ocean ; for there the tint 
is a dull green, while in many other parts of the world it is a marine blue. 
After climbing a league we reached the summit of the pass, which was a sort of 
shoulder of the range, and had a short distance of tolerably level route. From 
this elevation we caught a glimpse of a deep bay, with a town at its head, 
called Villa Franca ; and one of the most extraordinary of all the wasp-like 
looking villages I had yet seen presented itself. It literally capped the apex of a 
cone, whose sides were so steep as to render ascending and descending a work of 
toil, and even risk. I should think that a child falling from the verge of the 
27 



210 



PAGES AND PICTURE. S. 



village must roll down two hundivd feet. On tliis extraordinaiy pinnacle were 
perelied some fifty or sixty liotise.s luiilt of stone, resembling, as usual, one single 
and quaint edifice, from the manner in wliicli they were compressed together. 
Tlio co?uluaieu7' deemed this village the most extraordinary object on his route; 
and when I asked him what could have induced men to select such a position 
for a town, he answered: '■The hears P Protection was unquestionably the 
motive, and tiie village is prol)ubIy very anciejit. My companion thought there 
must be a well of great depth to furnish water, and he added that the inhabitants 
were chiefly shepherds. It is necessary to see a landscape embellished by towns, 
convents, castles, and churches, occupying sites like this, to form any accurate 
notion of the manner in whicli tiiey render it cpiaint and striking." 




At Marseilles the printing plan was varied. Unwilling to be absent from his 
temporary home longer than was possible, he succeeded in finding an English 
compositor, who c(jnsented to i-eturn with him to Florence, and work under Mr. 
Coo])er's directions in an Italian otfice. This man, whose name was Richard 
lieavisides, was imfortunately deaf and dumb. Tlie author returned to Florence 
with him, however ; and a room in some corner of that s})acious Italian dwelling, 
the Casa Ricasoli, was found f >r the printer, who received his meals from his 
employer's table, while his working hours were ])assed in the Italian ofiice. lie 
proved, however, but an indifl:erent printer ; the work Avent on very slowly, and 
the plan would probably have been abandoned from this cause alone, when the 
ungovernable temper of the man — a failing said to bo common with mutes — 
rendered it necessary to send him back to Marseilles again. At length, with the 



THE WEPT OF WI SH-TON-WI S H. £11 

kind assistance of tli(j grand duke's librarian, otlier arrangements were made, 
and a small edition of the Wish-ton-WisIi was printed, the early slieets of which 
were sent to Paris, London, and Pliiladelphia, to meet engagements with the 
author's publishers in those cities. In England, the book received the name of 
" The Borderers," wliicli it still bears in that country. The word Wish-ton- Wish, 
the author liad taken from an Indian vocabulary, professing to give it the 
meaning of Whip-poor-Will, in a diidect of one of the eastern tril)es; the correct- 
ness of the translation lie had afterward reason to doubt, when too late, however, 
to change the name. An American work, of no little interest, whose leading idea 
was very similar to that of tlie AYish-ton-Wish, appeared rather earlier : IIo2)e 
Leslie, by Miss Sedgwick. It was a singular coincidence that two American, 
writers should have been led to plan, at the same moment, works so similar in 
outline. Hope Leslie had the honors of the earlier publication, still it is simply 
true that the idea of Mr. Coopers book was quite original with himself; at the 
time of the ])ul)lication of tlie Wish-ton-Wish he had never read Hope Leslie. 
Both authors pi'oljably drew their outline fn;)m the same sources, the annals of 
Deerfield, and Ciierry Valley, and Wyoming. 

The success of the Wish-ton-Wish was moderate only. This was especially the 
case in America; in England and in France it was more liked. Is it an error to 
believe that the book has l)een undervalued ? May we not assert that if no other 
work more brilliant in character had been given us by the same pen, the AYish- 
ton-Wish would have ranked more liighly * There is a vein of deep pathetic 
interest running through tlie narrative; and many beautiful pictures might be 
drawn from its pages. The principal characters are well sketched, and there is a 
purity and freshness in the general tone like the odor of the newly-tnrned sod — 
the fragrance of bud aiid 1)riar in the newly opened wood. Mr. Cloojjer was very 
far from being an admirer of Puritan peculiarities, or the fruits their principles have 
yielded in later times; but in the AVish-t(Hi-Wish impartial justice has been done 
to all that was sound and healthful in their system : to their courage, their thrifty 
industry, their self-denial and simple hal)its of life, their shrewdness, and their 
indomitable resolution ; while the less pleasing traits have been softened down, 
and a subdued poetical light, in perfect harmony with the pathetic nature of the 
subject, thrown over the whole. As a picture of pure family love — that between 
husband and wife, parent and child, brother and sister — the narrative is l)eautiful. 
The spirit of tliat love glows tlu-oughout; it throws a light, sweet and serene, yet 
clear and strong, over every page; wliile in no instance is there the least taint of 
exaggeration or conceit. Some time after the publication of tlie book, when 
revising its pages for a new edition, the writer expressed a regret that his plan 



212 



P A r; F, R ANT) P I r T T^ R E R . 



had not varied in one particular; tlic leading idea, the abduction of the daughter 
of the Puritan family and her adoption by the savages, would have remained the 
same, but instead of bringing Narra-mattah to her old home again with the 
Narragansett marauders, he would Lave carried the heart-stricken father into the 
wilderness on the trail of his lost child ; he would have followed the pai'ent step 
by step through the forest, as he was led onward — now deceived by some false 
rumor, then again guided liy the right clue, wandering far and wide, along unex- 
plored streams, over nameless lakes, throaigh pathless valleys, until, at length, in 
some remote wigwam of the red man, he finds her as she is now drawn, a beautiful 
picture of sweet natural instincts, and wild grace, appearing one moment in that 
subdued forest light which belongs to the red man's daughtei-, and then again 
brightening xinder some clearer ray of her earlier Christian nurture. We can 
imagine something, at least, of the higher interest, and the beauty of original 
detail, which would have been given to the work under this form. 




M^^^^^^>. 




NARRA-MATTAH. 



The sliort twilight was already passed, when old Mark Heathcote ended the 
evening prayer. The mixed character of the remarkable events of that day had given 
birth to a feeling which could find no other relief than that which flowed from the 
usual zealous, confiding, and exalted outpouring of the spirit. On the present occa- 
sion, he had even resorted to an extraordinary, and, what one less devout might be 
tempted to think, a supererogatory ofifering of thanksgiving and praise. After dis- 
missing the dependants of the establishment, supported by the arm of his son, he had 
withdrawn into an inner apartment, and there, surrounded only by those who had the 
nearest claims on his affections, the old man again raised Ms voice to laud the Being 
W'ho, in the midst of so much general grief, had deigned to look upon his particular 
race with the eyes of remembrance and of fovor. He spoke of his recovered grand- 
child by name, and he dealt with the whole subject of her captivity among the 
heathen, and her restoration to the foot of the altar, with the fervor of one who saw 
the wise decrees of Providence in the event, and with a tenderness of sentiment that 
age was far from having extinguished. It was at the close of this private and 
peculiar worship that W'e return into the presence of the famUy. 

When Ruth Heathcote arose from her knees, it was with a hand clasped in that 
of the child whom her recent devotion was well suited to make her think had been 
rescued from a condition far more gloomy than that of the grave. She had used a 
gentle violence to force the wondering being at her side to join, so far as externals 
could go, in the prayer ; and, now it was ended, she sought the countenance of her 
daughter, in order to read the impression the scene had produced, w'ith all the solici- 
tude of a Christian, heightened by the tenderest maternal love. 



214 PAGESAXDPICTTJRES. 

Narra-mattali, as we shall continue to call her, in air, expression, and attitude, 
resembled one who had a fancied existence in the delusion of some excitiiicc dream. 
Her ear remembered sounds which had so often been repeated in her infancy, and 
her memory recalled indistinct recollections of most of the objects and usages that 
were so suddenly replaced before her eyes ; but tlie former now conveyed their 
meaning to a mind that had gained its strength under a very diflerent system of 
theology, and the latter came too late to supplant usages that were rooted in her 
affections by the aid of all those wild and seductive habits that are known to become 
nearly unconquerable in those who have long been subject to their influence. She 
stood, therefore, in the centre of the grave, self-restrained group of her nearest kin, 
like an alien to their blood, resembling some timid and but half-tamed tenant of the 
air, that human art had endeavored to domesticate, by placing it in the society of the 
more tranquil and confiding inhabitants of the aviary. 

Notwithstanding the strength of her ivffectious, and her devotion to all the natural 
duties of her station, Ruth Heathcote was not now to learn the manner in which she 
was to subdue any violence in their exhibition. The first indulgence of joy and 
gratitude ^\•as over, and in its place appeared the never-tiring, vigilant, engrossing, 
but regulated watchfulness which the events woidd naturally create. The doubts, mis- 
givings, and even fearful apjirebensions, that beset her, were smothered in an appear- 
ance of satisfaction ; and something like gleamings of happiness were again seen 
playing about a brow that had so long been clouded with an unobtrusive but corrod- 
ing care. 

"And thou recallcst thine infancy, my Ruth?" asked the mother, when the respect- 
ful period of silence, which ever succeeded prayer in that family, was passed ; " thy 
thoughts have not been altogether strangers to lis, but nature hath had its place in thy 
heart. Tell us, child, of thy wanderings in the forest, and of the suflerings that one 
so tender must have undergone among a barbarous people. There is pleasure in 
listening to all thou hast seen and felt, now that Ave know there is an end to unhappi- 
ness."' 

She spoke to an ear that was deaf to language like this. Narra-mattah evidently 
understood her words, while their meaning was wrapped ui an obscurity that she 
neither wished to nor was capable of comprehending. Keeping a gaze, in which 
pleasure and wonder were powerfully blended, on that soft look of affection which 
beamed from her mother's eye, she felt hurriedly among the folds of her dress, and 
drawing a belt that was gayly ornamented after the most ingenious fashion of her 
adopted people, she approached her half-jileased, ludf-distressed parent, and, with hands 
that trembled equally with timidity and pleasure, she arranged it around her person 
in a manner to show its richness to the best advantage. Pleased with her performance, 
the artless being eagerly sought approbation in eyes that bespoke little else than 
regret. Alarmol at an expression she could not translate, the gaze of Xarra-mattah 



XAKKA-MATTAH. 215 

wimileretl, as if it sought support against some sensation to ■which she was a stranger. 
Whittal Ring had stolen into the room, and missing the customary features of her own 
cherished home, the looks of the startled creature rested on the eoimtenance of the wit- 
less wanderer. She pointed eagerly to the work of her hands, appealincj by an eloquent 
and artless gesture to the taste of one who should know whether she had done well. 

" Bravely !" returned AVTiittal, approaching nearer to the subject of his admiration ; 
"'tis a brave belt, and none but the wife of a Sachem could make so rare a gift!"' 

Tlie girl folded her arms meekly on her bosom, and again appeared satisfied with 
herself and with the world. 

" Here is the hand of him visible who dealeth in all wickedness," said the Puritan. 
" To corrupt the heart with vanities, and to mislead the affections by luring them to 
the things of life, is the guile in which he delighteth. A fallen nature lendeth but too 
ready aid. We must deal with the child in fervor and watchfulness, or better that her 
bones were l)"ing hy the side of those little ones of thy flock, who are already inheritors 
of the promise." 

Respect kept Ruth silent ; but, while she sorrowed over the ignorance of her child, 
natural affection was strong at her heart. With the tact of a woman, and the tender- 
ness of a mother, she both saw and felt that severity was not the means to efi'ect the 
improvement they desired. Taking a seat herself, she drew her child to her person, 
and, first imploring silence by a glance at those around her, she proceeded, in a manner 
that was dictated by the mysterious influences of nature, to flithom the depth of her 
daughter's mind. 

"Come nearer, Narra-mattah," she said, using the name to which the other woidd 
alone answer. " Thou art still in thy youth, my child ; but it hath pleased Hun whose 
will is law, to have made thee the witness of many changes in this varj-ing life. TeU 
me if thou recallest the days of infancy, and if thy thoughts ever returned to thy 
father's house, dtiring those weary years thou wast kept from our view?"' 

Ruth used gentle force to draw her daughter nearer while speaking, and the latter 
simk into that posture from which she had just arisen, kneeling, as she had often done 
in infancy at her mother's side. The attitude was too full of tender recollections not 
to be grateful, and the half-alarmed being of the forest was suffered to retain it during 
most of the dialogue that followed. But while she was thus obedient in person, by the 
vacancy, or rather wonder of an eye that was so eloquent to express all the emotions 
and knowledge of which she was the mistress, Xarra-mattah plainly manifested that 
little more than the endearment of her mother's words and mamier was intelligible. 
Ruth saw the meaning of her hesitation, and smothering the pang it caused, she en- 
deavored to adapt her language to the habits of one so artless. 

" Even the gray heads of tliy people were once young," she resumed ; '• and they 
remember the lodges of their fathers. Does my daughter ever think of the time 
when she played among the children of the pale-faces ?" 



216 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

The attentive creature at the knee of Ruth listened greedily. Her knowledge of the 
language of her childhood had been sufficiently implanted licfore her cai)ti\ity, and it 
had been too often exercised by intercourse with the whites, and more particularly 
with Whittal Ring, to leave her in any doubt of the meaning of what she now heard. 
Stealing a timid look over a shoulder, she sought the countenance of Martha, and, 
studying her lineaments for near a nimutc with intense regard, she laughed aloud in 
the contagious merriment of an Indian girl. 

" Thou hast not forgotten us ! That glance at her who was the companion of thy 
infancy assures mo, and we shall soon again possess our Ruth in affection, as we now 
possess her in the body. I will not speak to thee of that fearful night when the violence 
of the savage robbed us of thy presence, nor of the bitter sorrow which beset xis at thy 
loss; but there is one who must still be known to thee, my child : He who sitteth above 
the clouds, who holdeth the earth in the hollow of his hand, and who looketh in mercy 
on all that journey on the path to which his own finger pointeth. Hath he yet 
a place in thy thoughts ? Thou rememberest His holy name, and still thinkest of his 
power ?" 

The listener bent her head a.side, as if to catch the full meaning of what she heard, 
the shadows of deep reverence passing over a face that had so lately been smiling. 
After a pause she audibly murmured the word — 

"Manitou!" 

" Manitou, or Jehovah ; God, or King of kings, and Lord of lords ! it mattereth 
little which term is used to express his jiower. Thou knowest him, then, and hast 
never ceased to call upon his name ?" 

" Narra-mattah is a woman. She is afraid to speak to the Manitou aloud. He 
knows the voices of the chiefs, and opens his ears when they ask help." 

The Puritan groaned, but Ruth succeeded in rjuelling her own anguish, lest she 
should disturb the reviving confidence of her daughter. 

" This may be the Manitou of an Indian," she said ; " but it is not the Christian's 
God. Thou art of a race which worships differently, and it is proper that thou shouldst 
call on the name of the Deity of thy fothers. Even the Narragansett teacheth this 
truth! Thy skin is white, and thy ears should hearken to the traditions of the men of 
thy blood." 

The head of the daughter drooped at this allusion to her color, as if she would fain 
conceal the mortifying truth from every eye ; but she had not time for answer, ere 
Whittal Ring drew near, and pointing to the burning color of her cheeks, that were 
deepened as much with shame as with the heats of an American sun, he said — 

" The wife of the Sachem hath begun to change. She will soon be like Nipset, all 
red. See !" he added, laying a finger on a part of his own arm, where the sun and the 
winds had not yet destroyed the original color ; " the Evil Spirit poured water into his 
blood too, but it will come out again. As soon as he is so dark that the Evil Spirit 



NARRA-MATTAH. £17 

will not know him, he will go on the war-path ; and then the lying pale-faces may dig 
up the bones of theii' fothers, and move toward the sunrise, or his lodge will be lined 
with hair of the color of a deer I" 

" And thou, my daughter ! canst thou hear this threat agamst the people of thy 
nation — of thy blood — of thy God — without a shudder ?" 

The eye of Xarra-mattah seemed in doubt; still it regarded Whittal with its accus- 
tomed look of kindness. The innocent, full of his imaginary glory, raised his liand in 
exultation, and by gestures that could not easily be misunderstood, he indicated the 
manner in which he intended to rob his victims of the usual trophj-. While the youth 
was enacting the disgusting but expressive pantomime, Ruth watched the countenance 
of her child in nearly breathless agony. She would have been relieved by a single 
glance of disapprobation, by a solitary movement of a rebellious muscle, or by the 
smallest sign that the tender nature of one so lovely, and otherwise so gentle, revolted 
at so unequivocal evidence of the barbarous practices of her adopted people. But no 
empress of Rome could have witnessed the dying agonies of the hapless gladiator, no 
consort of a more modern prince could read tlie bloody list of the victims of her 
husband's triumphs, nor any betrothed fair listen to the murderous deeds of him her 
imagination had painted as a hero, with less indifference to human suffering, than that 
with which the wife of the sachem of the Narragansetts looked on the mimic represen- 
tation of those exploits which had purchased ibr her husband a renown so highly prized. 
It was but too apparent that the representation, rude and savage as it was, conveyed 
to her mind nothing but pictures in which the chosen companion of a warrior should 
rejoice. The varying features and answering eye too plainly proclaimed the sympathy 
of one taught to exult in the success of the combatant ; and when Whittal, excited by 
his own exertions, broke out into an exhibition of a violence more ruthless even than 
common, he was openly rewarded by another laugh. The soft, exquisitely feminine 
tones of this involuntary burst of pleasure, sounded m the ears of Ruth like a knell over 
the moral beauty of her child. Still, subduing her feelings, she passed a hand thought- 
fully over her own pallid bro-n-, and appeared to muse long on the desolation of a mind 
that had once promised to be so pure. 

But the efforts of maternal love are not easily repulsed. An idea flashed upon her 
brain, and she proceeded to try the efficacy of the experiment it suggested. Nature 
had endowed her with a melodious voice, and an ear that taught her to regulate 
sounds in a manner that seldom failed to touch the heart. Drawing her daughter 
nearer to her knee, she commenced one of the songs then much used by the mothers of 
the colony, her voice scarcely rising above the whispering of the evening air, in its first 
notes, but gradually gaining, as she proceeded, the richness and compass that a strain 
so simple required. 

At the first low breathing notes of this nursery song, Narra-mattah became as mo- 
tionless as if her rounded and unfettered form had been wrought in marble. Pleasure 
28 



218 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

lighted her eye, as stram succeeded stram; and ere the second verse was ended, her 
look, lier attitude, and every muscle of her ingenuous features, were eloquent in the 
expression of delight. Ruth did not hazard the experiment without trembling for its 
result. Emotion imparted feeling to the music, and when, for the third time in the 
course of her song, she addressed her child, she saw the soft blue eyes that gazed wist- 
fully on her face swimming in tears. Encouraged by this unequivocal evidence of 
success, nature grew still more powerful in its eflbrts, and the closing verse was sung 
to an ear that nestled near her heart, as it had often done during the early years of 
N"arra-mattah, while listening to its mel.ancholy melody. 

Content Avas a quiet but an anxious witness of this touching evidence of a reviving 
intelligence between his wife and child. He best understood the look that beamed 
in the eyes of the former, while her arms were, with extreme caution, folded around 
her who still leaned upon her bnsom, as if fearful one so timid might be frightened 
from her security by any sudden or unaccustomed interruption. A minute passed 
in the deepest silence. Even Whittal Ring was lulled into quiet, and long and sorrow- 
ing years had passed since Ruth enjoyed moments of happiness so pure and unalloyed. 
The stillness was broken by a heavy step in the outer room ; a door was thrown open 
by a hand more violent than common, and then young Mark appeared, his face flushed 
with exertion, his brow seemingly retaining the frown of battle, and with a tread tliat 
betrayed a spirit goaded by some fierce and unwelcome passion. The burden of 
Conanchet was on his arm. He laid it upon a table ; then pointing, in a manner that ap- 
peared to challenge attention, he turned, and left the room as abruptly as he had entered. 

A cry of joy burst from the lips of Narra-mattah, the instant the beaded belts 
caught her eye. The arms of Ruth relaxed their hold in surprise, and before amaze- 
ment had time to give place to more connected ideas, the wild being at her knee had 
flown to the table, returned, resumed her former posture, opened the folds of the cloth, 
and was holding before the bewildered gaze of her mother the patient features of an 
Indian babe. 

It would exceed the powers of the unambitious pen we wielil, to convey to the 
reader a just idea of the mixed emotions that struggled for mastery in the countenance 
of Ruth. The innate and never-dying sentiment of maternal joy was opposed by all 
those feelings of pride that prejudice could not fail to implant even in the bosom of one 
so meek. There was no need to tell the history of the parentage of the little suppliant, 
who already looked up into her face, with that peculiar calm which renders his race so 
remarkable. Though its glance was weakened liy infancy, the dark glittering eye of 
Conanchet was there ; there were also to be seen the receding forehead and the com- 
pressed lip of the father ; but all these marks of his origin were softened by touches 
of that beauty which had rendered the infancy of her own child so remarkable. 

" See !" said Narra-mattah, raising the infant still nearer to the riveted gaze of 
Ruth ; " 'tis a sachem of the red men ! The little eagle hath left his nest too soon." 



NARRA-MATTAH. 



219 



Ruth could not resist the appeal of her beloved. Bending her head low, so as 
entirely to conceal her own flushed face, she imprinted a kiss on the forehead of the 
Indian boy. But the jealous eye of the young mother was not to be deceived. Narra- 
mattah detected the difference between the cold salute and those fervent embraces she 
had herself received, and disappointment produced a chill about her own heart. 
Replacing the folds of the cloth with quiet dignity, she arose from her knees, and 
withdrew in sadness to a distant corner of the room. There she took a seat, and with 
a glance that might almost bo termed reproachful, she commenced a low Indian song 
to her infant. 

" The wisdom of Providence is in this, as in all its dispensations," whispered Con- 
tent over the shoulder of his nearly insensible partner. " Had we received her as she 
was lost, the favor might have exceeded our deservings. Our daughter is grieved 
that thou turnest a cold eye on her babe." 

The appeal was suflicient for one whose affections had been wounded rather than 
chilled. It recalled Ruth to recollection, and it served at once to dissipate the shades 
of regret that had been unconsciously permitted to gather around her brow. The 
displeasure — or it would be more true to term it sorrow — of the young mother was 
easily appeased. A smile on her infant brought the blood back to her heart in a swift 
and tumultuous current ; and Ruth herself soon forgot that she had any reason for 
regret, in the innocent delight with which her own daughter now hastened to display 
the physical excellenee of the boy. From this scene of natural feeling. Content was 
too quickly summoned by the intelligence that some one without awaited his presence, 
on business of the last importance to the welfare of the settlement. 




>! ': %^. 




THE WATER-WITCH. 



With the early spriug of Italy came longings for the freedom of the fields. 
A villa vr&s secured, on a side-hill, just beyond the walls of Florence. The 
dwelling was trim and spruce rather than picturesque, and received its name of 
St. lUario from a little rustic church, which would have touched its walls hut for 
a very narrow lane which lay between them. Tliere were two square projecting 
wings to the villa, each crowned with a belvedere and roofed teri-ace, one of these 
last being connected with the author's study. We give a sketch of the spot in 
his own words : "Anions other recommendations the Villa St. lUario has two 
covered belvederes, where one can sit in the breeze, and nverlook the groves of 
olive-trees with all the crowded objects of an Italian landscape. The valley of the 
Arno, though sufiiciently wide, and ciiltivated chiefly v.'ith the spade, is broken 
by many abrupt and irregular heights, the advanced spurs of the ranges of the 
Apennines M'hich bound it. On nearly all of these eminences stands a stone 
building, topped by a belvedere, witii or without terraces, here and there a tree, 
and olive-groves beneath. Thewliole country is intersected by very narrow roads 
leading up to the heights, and these lanes usually run between close and high 
walls. They are commonly paved, to preA^ent the wash of the rains, and nothing 
can be less attractive, though we find the shade of the walls beginning to be 
necessary as the season advances. To obtain a view one is obliged to ascend to 
some one of the look-outs on the hills, of which there are many ; though the 
rides and walks on the level land, above and behind us, occasionally furnish 
glorious glimpses. We are much in the habit of strolling to one of the heights, 



THE W A T E R- W I T C H. 221 

rightly enough called Bellosgiiardo, lor a better bird's-eye view of a town is not 
often had than this afibrds of Florence. In addition, we get the panorama of the 
valley and mountains, and the delicate lights and shades of the misty Apennines. 
These mountains are eenerallv to be distinguished from the lower ranges of the 
Alps, or those whose elevation comes neai-est to their own, by a softer and more 
sunny hue, which is often rendered dreamy and indolent by the sleepy haziness 
of the atmosphere. Indeed, every thing in these regions appears to invite to 
contemplation and repose, at this particular season. There is an admixture of the 
savage and the refined in the ragged ravines of the hills, the villas, the polished 
town, the cultivated i)lain, the distant chestnut-covered peaks, the costumes, the 
songs of the peasants, the oriental olive, the monasteries and churches, that keeps 

the mind constantly attuned to poetry The songs of Tuscany are often 

i-emarkable. There is one air in particular that is heard in every key, used to all 
sorts of words, and is iu tlie mouths of all of the lower classes of both sexes. 
The soldier sings of war to it, the sailor of storms and the seas, the gallant of his 
adventures, and the young girl of her love. The air is full of melody. It is, 
withal, a little wild, and has a la ral^ lal, la to it that just suits the idea of hearti- 
ness whicli is perhaps necessary, for the simplicity of such a thing may be hurt 
by too mueli sophistication. I first heard this air in the town, at a particular 
hour, every evening. On inquiry, I found it was a baker boy singing it in the 
street as he dispensed his cakes. I often hear it, as I sit in my belvedere, rising 
from among the vines or olives, on difterent heights: sometimes it is sung in 
falsetto, sometimes in a deej) bass, sometimes in a rich contralto. "Walking to 
Bellosguardo the other evening, I heard it in a vineyard, and getting on a stone 
that overlooked the wall, I found it came frcjiii a beautiful contadina who was 
singing of love as she trimmed her \-iiies ; disturbed by my m<jtions, she turned, 
blushed, laughed, hid her face, and ran among the leaves. This is not our only 
imisic. One of the very narrow lanes separates my end of the house from the 
church of St. Illario and the dwelling of the priest. From the belvedere com- 
municating with my own room we have frequent passages of civility across the 
lane with the good old curato, who discusses the weather and the state of the 
crops with great unction. Tlie old man has some excellent figs, and our cook, 
having discovered it, lays his trees under contrilnition. And liere I will record 
what I conceive to be the very pei-fection of epieiirism, or rather of taste, in the 
matter of eating. A single fresh fig, as a corrective after the soup, I hold to be 
one of those sublime touches of art that are oftener discovered by accident than 
by the investigations of science. I do not mean that I have even the equivocal 
merit of this accidental discovery, for I was told the secret, and French ingenuity 



■■# 



■2'i9 



PAGES A N Li PICTURES. 



had coiiie prettj near it already, in the way of melons. Bnt no melon is like a 
fig ; nor will a French fig, certainly not a Paris fig, answer the pnrpose at all. 
It must be such a fig as one gets in Italy. At Paris you are always oflTered a glass 
of Madeira after the soup, the only one taken at table: Init it is a pitiful sub 
stitute for the fig. After communicating this improvement on human happiness, 
let me add that it is almost destructive of the jileasui-e derived from the first, to 
take a second. One small green-coated fresh fig is the precise point of gastro- 
nomic felicity in this respect. But the good curato, besides his figs, has a pair of 
uneasy l)ells in his church-tower, wiiich are exactly forty-three feet from my 
ears, and which invariably ring in ])airs six or eight times daily. There are 
matins, noon-tide, angelus, vespers, regularly, to say nothing of christenings, 
funerals, weddings. The eiiect of bells is delightful when heard in the distance, 
and they are ringing all over the valley, morning, noon, and night ; but these are 
too near. Still I get now and then rare touches of the picturesque from this 
proximity to the church. Lounging in the belvedere lately, at night, we saw 
torches gleaming in a distant lane. Presently the soimds of the funeral chant 
reached us ; these gradually deepened, until we had the imposing and solenm 
chant for the dead echoing beneath our own walls, as if in the nave of a church. 
It is necessary to witness such a scene, to appreciate its beauty, on a still and dark 
night beneath an Italian sky." 




The sight of the Mediterranean, enjoyed dm-ing the winter journey to Mar- 
seilles, had suggested the idea of another tale of the sea ; a return of the fever, 



THE WATER-WITCH. 223 

however, from wliicli the writer had suH'ered at home, and which was now 
brought on again, thougli in a milder foi'm, by exposure to the summer sun of 
Italy, prevented the progress of the work. About midsummer an entire change 
of air was planned. There was a longing for the sea-breezes, a wish to find a 
dwelling somewhere within sight and sound of the blue waves of the Mediterra- 
nean. A movement southward, and by the water, was decided upon. Leghorn 
was the first step : 

" After passing the night at Pisa, we gallojjed across the plain to Leghorn. 
The salt air was grateful, and I suutl'ed the odor of this delightful sea with a 
feeling that was ' redolent of joy and }-outh.' AVe hurried ofl" to the port. Here 
we feasted our eyes on the different pictm-esque rigs and peculiar barks of those 
poetical waters. Long years had gone by since I had seen the felucca, the 
polacre, the xebec, and the sparanara, with all the other cpiaint-looking craft of 
the Mediterranean. As we strolled along the mole and cpiays, we met several 
men from the Levant ; and an Algerine Rais was calmly smoking his chibouque 
on the deck of his polacre. A good many Sardinians lay scattered about the 
harbor. Of Tuscans there were few, and these all small. Three Russians were 
laid up on account of the war with Turkey ! Rowing under the bows of a 
Yankee, I foxmd one of his people seated on the windlass, playing on the flute — as 
cool a piece of impudence as can well be imagined for a Massachusettsman to 
practise in Italy ! The delicious odors of the sea-port were inhaled with a delight 
that no language can describe. I had been living in an atmosphere of poetry for 
many months, and this was truly an atmosphere of life. Tlie fragrance of the 
bales of merchandise, of the piles of oranges — of even the mud, saturated as it 
was with salt — to say nothing of the high seasoning of occasional breathings of 
tar and pitch, to me were pregnant with ' odors of delight.' " 

At Leghorn a Genoese felucca was engaged for the voyage to Naples. " La 
Bella Genovese" was a craft of about thirty tons, and of beautiful mould ; she 
was latine-rigged, carrying two sails of that description, and a jib ; her crew 
numbered ten men ! " I myself," continues the author, " have been one of eleven 
hands, officers included, to navigate a ship of some three hundred tons across the 
Atlantic ocean ; and, what is more, we often reefed topsails with the watch. 
Having engaged the felucca, we passed another day in gazing at the hazy 
Apennines, whose lights and shadows, particularly the noble piles that buttress 
the coast to the northward, render them pictures to study. The entire northem 
shore of this luxm-ious sea, in summer, is one scene of magnificent natm-e, 
relieved hj a bewitching softness, such as perhaps no other portion of the globe 
can equal. I can best liken it to an extremely fine woman, whose stateliness and 



224 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

beauty are softened by tlie ebjqiieiit and speaking expression of feminine 
sentiment.'" 

Tlie voyage in the " Bella Genovese," along the coast of Tuscany, Romagna, 
and Naples, lasted some six days — a week of great enjoyment to one who, though 
now numbered among men of letters, was ever a sailor at heart, and who felt so 
deeply the charm of Italian nature. Tiic veiy atmosphere of Italy was a per- 
petual delight to him. 

After two or three weeks passed in a hotel at Naples, the family party were 
again housed in a temporary home of their own, on the cliiis of Sorrento. 

" This is a t(.iwn of a few thousand iidiabitants, directly opposite Naples, at a 
distance of some eighteen miles across the bay. The fertile plain on which 
Sorrento stands is surrounded by mountains, in a half-circle, facing the sea. The 
whole formation is volcanic, large fissures of the tufa appearing, in the shape of 
deep ravines, in various places. Advantage has been taken of the accidental 
position of these ravines, to form a dee]> natural ditch around the place, which 
stands on the margin of the ])lain overlooking the sea. Tliis plain is six or seven 
miles in length, a continued village, very fertile, and extremely populous. Its 
elevation above the Ijay varies from one to two hundred feet, the verge being a 
perpendicular cliff of tufa, nearly the whole distance. The house we have taken 
is said to have been the one in Avhich Tasso was born ; it stands on the brow of 
the clifts, within the walls of the town, and in plain sight of every object of in- 
terest on the bay, from Iscliia to the jn-omoutury of Yico, Castelamare and a short 
reach of the shore in that vicinity excepted. The foundation of tlie house rests 
on narrow shelves of the clifts, which just at this spot are about one hundred and 
fifty feet in perpendictilar height, or possibly even more. It has a ti-eaeherous 
look to see the substratum of a building standing on a projection of this sort. 
Tliere are two or three stories below us down among the clifi:s. All the dwellings 
along these rocks, many of which are convents, have subterraneous connnunica- 
tions with the sea, the outlets being visible as we row along beneath the heights. 
Tlie government, however, has caused them to be closed, without distinction, to 
prevent smuggling. "We occupy the principal floor only, though I have taken 
the entire house. Tliere is a chapel beneath the great sala^ and I believe there 
are kitchens and offices somewhere in those lower regions ; but I have never 
visited any portion of the substratum but the chapel. We enter by a heavy 
jporte-cocliere into a coiirt, which has a well with a handsome mai'ble covering, or 
curb, and a flight of bi'oad marble steps fit for a palace. These Wo objects, 
coupled with the interest of Tasso's name, have been thought worthy of an 
engraving. Seaward, two or three large ante-chambers lead to the sala, •which 



THE W A T E K - W 1 T C H . 225 

faces the water, and is a room lifty feet long, with width and heiglit in proportion. 
The floors, or rather pavements, are of a mud-colored composition, resemblino- 
pudding-stone ; tlie furniture is no great matter, being reduced to the very mini- 
mum in quality, but it is not unsuited to the heat of the climate and the 
mlleggiatura ; there are old-fashioned gilded couches and chairs, with a modern 
lounge or two. Tliere are several marble medallions and busts of merit — one, on 
what authority I cannot say, is declared to be an antique of Alexander the Great. 
The windows of this sala, facing northward, open on tlie sea. A narrow street, 
that leads among convents, winds downward toward the great landing and the 
bay. Toward the water there is a terrace — the great charm of the house ; it is 
only fifty feet long, and perhaps half as wide ; but it hangs over the blue 
Mediterranean, and, by its position and height, commands a view of three-fourths 
of the glorious objects of the region. It has a solid stone balustrade to protect 
it, massive and carved, with banisters as big as my body. Tliis renders it per- 
fectly safe, as you will understand when I tell you that, hearing an outcry from 

P the other day, I foimd him with his head fast between two of the latter, in 

a way that frightened me, as well as the youngster himself. It was like being 
imbedded in a rock. Immediately below the terrace runs a narrow beach, where 
our children delight to play, picking up shells of the Mediterranean — and more 
than shells : among the treasures gleaned here by them arc fragments of ancient 
mosaics, small semitrausparent and glass-like squares of diiferent colors, chiefly 
blue, green, and red — relics, no doubt, of some ancient villa of the Romans, many 
of which once lined these shores. Tlie foundations of some ancient edifice — said 
to have been a temple of Neptime — are still seen, at times, by us, as we look 
down upon the sea from the terrace ; they lie wholly beneath the waves, and 
when the water is still and clear, may be distinctly traced. The sea limits our 
view from the terrace to the west. Ischia, dark, broken, and volcanic, but 
softened by vegetation and the tints of this luxurious atmosphere, rises at the 
farther entrance of the bay ; then Procida, low, verdant, and j)Copled. The 
misty, abrupt blufi" of Mysenum is the first land on the continent, with its memories 
of the Elysian fields, the port of the Koman galleys, and the ' Hundred Chambers.' 
The site of delicious Baite is pointed out by the huge pile of castle on the hill- 
side, and by the ruined condition of all those surrounding objects of interest. 
Behind yon little island, called Nisida, the bark of St. Paiil must have sailed, 
when he landed at Piiteoli on his way to Rome. Tlie Palace of Queen Joan, the 
grotto of Posilippo, the teeming city, and the bay, dotted with sails, follow. 
Tlien the eye passes over a broad expanse of rich level coimtry, between Vesuvius 
and the heights of the town. Tliis is the celebrated Felice Campagna, with Capua 
29 



226 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

in its bosom ; and the misty backgroimd is a wall of broken rocks, which in form 
are not unlike our own palisades, but which, a grand range of the Apennines, have 
probably six ov seven times their elevation. These mountains, at times, are 
scarcely visible, just marking the outline of the view, in a sort of shadowy frame, 
and then again they come forth distinct, noble, and dark, the piles they really 
are. The base of Vesuvius, a continued hamlet of white edifices, including 
palaces and cottages, with its cone for the background, follows ; and a pile of 
dingy earth, or ashes, marks the position of Pomjjeii. There is a little room 
partitioned ofl" from the terrace, which I use for writing, and where I can sit at 
the window, and see most of these objects. The distance impairs the effect but 
little ; so great is the pm-ity of the atmosphere, at times, that we may faintly 
hear the din of Naples, across the water." 

" Our daily excursions under the cliffs are peculiarly Italian. We cannot 
move until the day is drawing to a close ; but about foi;r, the shadows of the 
rocks are thrown so far on the waters as to form a complete protection against 
the rays of a fierce sun ; and we glide along, sometimes with a boatman, but 
oftener by ourselves. 

" We as much affect the inland walks, however, as this lazy navigation. Our 
excursions are of two sorts — tfie ' donkey,' and the ' non-donkey.' In the ' non- 
donkey,' we roam over the hills near the town, which are covered with fruit-trees, 
and intersected with narrow paths ; the kind and gentle peasants smiling as we 
pass, never ofiering rudeness of any kind. The Capo di Monte, overlooking the 
landing of the town, is a favorite resting-spot in these walks. The view of the 
beach, strewed with crafts of different sizes, including boats to the number of a 
hundred ; the domestic groujjs between them and the houses ; the children sport- 
ing in the sands ; the costumes and gay colors of the female dresses ; the nets 
spread to dry, and all the other little accessories of such a spot, that you can so 
readily imagine, make a perfect picture. Tlie men iisually wear a shirt, and loose 
trowsers that reach to little below the knee, and they have a Phrygian cap, 
oftener red than any other color. 

" The great number of beggars, that torment one like gnats, was at first a 
drawback to oTir pleasure. It was no unusual thing to have dozens of them in 
chase. We are now relieved of their assiduities, however ; and as the means of 
relief are characteristic, they may be worth knowing. Walking one day on the 
terrace that overhangs the bay, I hai^pened to cast my eye over the balustrade 
into the street, where there is a public seat — a long stone bench, immediately 
beneath our sala windows. It was occupied, at the moment, bv an old fellow 



THE WATER- WITCH. 227 

with a lame leg, as fine an old meiidicant as one shall see in a thousand. This 
man was enjoying himself, and keeping an eye on the gate, iu exjjeetation of our 
daily sortie. Seeing me, the beggar rose, and jiulled oif his cap. As I had no 
change I called a servant to bring nie a grano. Tliis little ceremony established 
a sort of intercourse between us. Tlie next day the tiling was rejjteated. As I 
usually wrote in the cabinet of a morning, and walked on the terrace at stated 
hours, my new acquaintance became very punctual ; and there is such a pleasure 
in thinking you are making a fellow-creature comfortable for a day, at so cheap a 
rate, that I began to expect him. This lasted ten days, perhaps, when I foTind 
two, one fine morning, instead of the one I had known. Another (jrano was 
given, and the next day I had three visitors. These three swelled, like the men 
in buckram, and were soon a dozen. From that moment no one asked charity of 
ns in our walks. "We frequently met beggars ; but tliey invariably drew modestly 
aside, permitting us to pass without question. We might have been a month 
getting up to the dozen ; after which tlie ranks increased with singular rapidity. 
Seeing many strange faces, I incjuired of Eoberto ^^•llence they came ; he told me 
that many were from villages five or six miles distant, it having been bruited 
that at noon, each day, all applicants were accommodated with a grano ajjiece by 
the American admiral ! By this fact alone we may learn the extreme poverty 
and the value of money in this country. We went on recruiting, until I now 
daily review some forty or fifty (jaherlumies. As my time here is limited, I liave 
determined to persevere ; and the only precaution taken is to drive oif those who 
do not seem worthy to be em-olled on a list so eminently mendicant. A new- 
comer from St. Agata, a village across the mountains, had tlie indiscretion, 
lately, as he got his grano, to wish me only a hundred years of life. ' A hundred 
years !' repeated the king of the gang ; ' you blackguard, do you wish a signer, 
who gives you a grano everyday, only a hundred years? Knock him down! 
away with him !' ' Mille anni^ signer ! a thousand years ; may you live a thou- 
sand years !' shouted the blunderer, amid some such tumult as one would see 
around a kettle of maccaroni in the streets of Naples, were its contents declared 
free. ' A thousand years, and long ones !' " 

Among the many charming excursions made over the mountains, and along 
the shores of the sea, there was one which had an especial influence on the 
book last planned. The lovely plain of Sorrento forms part of the noble promon- 
tory which, projecting westward into the Mediterranean, divides the bay of 
Naples from the still broader gulf of Salerno. Toward Naples, this promontory 
bears several beautiful jilains, or valleys, on its bosom, divided by different 
ridges ; but to the southward rises a range of high mountains, dark and wild on 



228 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 




their soiitliern face. " We had often exph^red these heights, and liad often ad- 
mired the loveliness of the view, overlooking both bays, and all their radiant 
scenery. On the present occasion we dismissed the donkeys at the higiiest point 
of the road, and prepared to make a descent on foot. The spot toward wliich we 
were descending, and in partictdar the path wliich leads to it, has great local ce- 
lebrity, and tliat deservedly, among the lovers of the ])icturesque, nnder the name 
of the Scaricatojo, which signifies a place to discharge at, or a landing; and really 
it is one of the last places where one would expect to find a marine landing. The 
precipice is very high — many times higher than that of Sorrento, and almost as 
abrupt. We went down the face of the rock by a zigzag, half stairs, half path, 

or what would call an amphibious road, wondering what there could be 

at the bottom but the sea ! We found, however, a landing just large enough to 
receive a boat or two, and the site of a small house, in which lived several custom- 
house officers; for so extreme is the jealousy of the government in matters of 
revenue, that every point at which a boat can throw its crew ashore is closely 
watched. At the Scaricatojo we took a small boat, with a ])air of oars, and 
launched upon the water, bound for Amalfi, some six or eight miles further up 
the gulf, toward Salerno. Tlie cradle of old Neptune was lazily rocking, as it is ever 
known to do, gale or calm. Occasionally, as we I'ounded the cliflTs, the send of the 
sea would carry us close in, giving us the appearance of one of the bubbles, though 
in fact there was no risk. I had often rowed under mountains in Switzerland ; 
but not often so immediately beneath rocks of the same elevation ; for some of 
these peaks between the Scaricatojo and Amalfi are said to be six thousand feet 
high. In Switzerland one sees cottages, even churches, convents, and chateaux, 
on the spurs of mountains, but I do not remember to have ever met with habi- 



THE AV A T ]•: R- W I T C H . 229 

tations of the same pretension so crowded on rocks so nearly pei^pendicular as was 
the case to-day, a few miles before we reached Amalfi. Some of the country- 
houses seemed absolutely clinging to the rocks ; but no doubt there was ample room 
for safety, and even for gardens. Just before reaching the town, a convent ap- 
peared built into the clifls, in a most picturesque manner, the wall of rock risin"- 
above the buildings, half-way to the clouds." 

This excursion to the Scaricatojo, coming after other glimpses of the same 
nature, all imiting to prove the extreme watchfulness of these European govern- 
ments on points connected with the customs, led to the idea of introducing a 
smuggling craft into the new book. Tlie scene, however, was laid in American 
waters, on the shores of Staten Island, while the time chosen was the period 
shortly after tlie English had taken possession of Xew Amsterdam — the Dutch 
element of the colony hguring largely in the book. A great portion of the Water- 
Witch was very rapidly written, in the little study on the beautiful terrace of the 
Casa Tasso, in sight of Vesuvius. Mr. Cooper lingered on the cliffs of Sorrento 
until the latest moment possible ; but when, at length, not only the dark tufa 
mountains, but the green orange groves of tlie plain also, were powdered with 
snow, it became necessary to abandon a dwelling so vast and open, in which but 
one fire could be kindled. Braziers, after the regular Italian fashion, albeit of 
elegant workmanship and great size, and filled with choice charcoal of olive-wood, 
were not to be endured by sucli a votary of the Yule-1< >g. A most reluctant adieu 
to the l)eautiful plain of Sorrento was forced from the traveller by the chill tra- 
montana, and a movement northward was made. The morning of the departure 
from Sorrento, the mendicant corps, to the number of ninety-six, paraded in the 
court of the Casa Tasso. 

The winter of 1830 was passed at Rome. Travellers have written so many 
volumes about Home — where every fallen column and time-worn stone has found a 
hundred pens to describe it — that the few jiassages allowed us shall be given rather 
to other groiind. Laying no claim whatever to the honors of high scholarship in the 
field of antiquity, the American traveller was yet most deeply interested by the pres- 
ent aspect of the great city. So much has been given to the world, in connection 
with its ruins, by learned men, that even without profound erudition the intelligent 
traveller may easily comprehend and appreciate much which would otherwise be 
dark to him. It was the especial delight of the American author to ride for hours 
over the Camjjagna, lingering here about some ruin, now pausing a moment to en- 
joy an impressive view, or dismounting, perchance, to examine more closely a statue 
or fragment of ancient days. He seldom rode alone ; ever social in feeling and 
tastes, he generally found some agreeable companion for the morning ride among 



230 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

the European friends who, at Eome, as at Florence, took pleasure in the cheerful 
American fireside. Among those who rode with him, there was none, perhaps, 
whose society gave the author mure pleasure than that of the distinguished Polish 
poet Miekiewicz, a nian whose appearance, manner, and conversation, Avere full 
of originality and genius, while the sad fate of his country enlisted Mr. Cooper's 
Avarmest sympathies in his behalf. The two writers were constantly roaming to- 
gether over the Campagna, or amid the ruins of Rome. 

The new work being nearly finished, tlie author was desirous of printing a 
small edition at Rome. Tlie usual applications were made, and several Italian 
friends, gentlemen of influence, very kindly interested themselves in behalf of the 
American writer. Some encouragement was given at first ; the natiu-e and 
character of the book were explained, and the preliminary permission was 
granted. The Italian friends Avere quite sanguine as to the success of the little 
enterprise — and as such it Avas considered b}^ them. The first chapters of the 
book Avere copied, and placed with all due form in the hands of the authorities 
— the oflicial censor of the press. Days passed. No answer Avas received. 
Anxious to know the result, a renewed application Avas made to the gentlemen 
in authority. At length came a very polite, very dignified, but slightly severe 
communication ; a particular passage on the second page of the book Avas referred 
to as Avholly unfit for piiblication : 

" It would seem that, as Nature has given its periods to the stages of animal 
life, it has also set limits to all moral and political ascendency. While the city 
of the Medici is receding from its crumbling Avails, like the human form shrink- 
ing into the ' lean and slippered pantaloon,' the Queen of the Adriatic is sleeping 
on her muddy isles, and Rome itself is only to be traced by fallen temples and 
buried columns, the youthful vigor of America is fast covering the Avilds of the 
West with the happiest fruits of human industry." 

This passage was utterly condemned. It Avas declared to be false in principle 
— imtrue, in fact. There were hints also that nothing at all similar could possibly 
be received. Tlie Avhole book must be rigidly revised, this ominous opening 
having excited the gravest fears as to the nature of subsequent pages. Fore- 
seeing constant annoyance from an attempt to carry out the plan, Mr. Cooper 
abandoned immediately all idea of printing at Rome. Tlie MS. was finished, 
and laid aside for a few Aveeks, until in the spring the author left Rome, and 
commenced his migration nortliAvard. Passing along the shores of the Adriatic 
to Venice, he proceeded through the Tyrol to Munich. After a brief pause in the 
capital of Bavaria, Avhere he much admired the works of art collected by the 
king, he moved onward to Dresden. Here some months were passed very 



T H E W A T E R - W I T C U . 231 

pleasantly, in a cheerful apartment looking ont iipon the Alt-Market, and the 
quaint and busy show of homely German life, so different from that of Italy, seen 
there at the weekly fairs. The town was admired, its fine public grounds, noble 
river and bridge, and, above all, its gallery, worthy of Italy. Still there were 
regrets for the country south of the great mountains ; the author frecpiently 
observing that every traveller should visit Germany before crossing the Alps. 
One object of his residence in Dresden was easily acconaplished. Tlie book, 
chiefly written in the Oasa Tasso, was printed without the least difficulty — the 
obstacles which wrecked '' The Water- Witch" on the Tiber, forming no impedi- 
ment to her being safely launched on the broader waters of the Elbe. Tlie book 
was published in America in 1830, by Messrs. Carey & Lea. This was rather a 
drama of the coast than a tale of the sea ; the movements of the vessels beinor 
confined entirely to the waters connected with the harbor of New York. If less 
brilliant than " The Red Rover," the spirit and interest which pervade " Tlie 
Water-Witch" are still very striking ; there is an atmosphere of romance infused 
into the narrative, singularly different from the sober coloring of Puritan life in 
" The Wish-ton-Wish." It is strikingly picturesque also, more so than most 
works from the same pen. But on tlie other hand, there is less of high moral 
tone in the book than was usual with Mr. Cooper ; it carries a carnival aspect 
about it ; the shell was gay and brilliant, the kernel was less noui-ishing than 
usual. 





)i«vifw''-./^ 




— vw 



FIRE! 



The Skimmer paused, for at that moment a fierce light glared upon the ocean, the 
ship, and all in it. The two seamen gazed at each other in silence, and both recoiled, 
as men recede before an unexpected ;ind fearful attack. But a bright and wavering 
light, which rose out of the forward hatch of tlie vessel, explained all. At the same 
moment, the deep stillness which, since the bustle of making sail had ceased, pervaded 
the ship, was broken by the appalling cry of " Fire !" 

The alarm which brings the blood in the swiftest current to a seaman's heart, was 
now heard in the depths of the vessel. The smothered sounds below, the advancing 
uproar, and the rush on deck, with the awful summons in the open air, succeeded each 
other with the rapidity of lightning. A dozen voices repeated the word, " The gren- 
ade !" proclaiming in a breath both the danger and the cause. But an instant before, 
the swelling canvas, the dusky spars, and the faint lines of the cordage, were only to 
be traced by the glimmering light of the stars ; and now the whole hamper of the 
ship was the more conspicuous, from the obscure background against which it was 
drawn in distinct lines. The sight was fearfully beautiful ; — beautiful, for it showed 
the symmetry and fine outlines of the vessel's rig, resembling the eflfect of a group of 
statuary seen by torch-light, — and fearful, since the dark void beyond seemed to de- 
clare their isolated and helpless state. 

There was one breathless, elocpient moment, in which all were seen gazing at the 
grand spectacle in mute awe, — and then a voice rose, clear, distinct, and commanding, 
above the sullen sound of the torrent of fire, which was roaring among the avenues of 
the ship. 




lltW YOKK.-V 



FIRE! 233 

"Call all hands to t'Xtiiiguisli tire! tTentleiiien, lu your stations. Be cool, iiil'u ; 
and be silent !" 

There 'svas a calmness and an authority in the tones of the young commander, that 
curbed the impetuous feelings of the startled crew. Accustomed to obedience, and 
trained to order, each man broke out of liis trance, and eagerly commenced the dis- 
charge of his allotted duty. At tliat instant, an erect and unmoved form stood on the 
combings of the main-hatch. A hand was raised in the air, and the call, which came 
from the deep chest, was like that of one used to speak in the tempest. 

"Where are my brigantmes?" it said — "Come away there, my sea-dogs; wet the 
light sails, and follow !" 

A group of grave and submissive mariners gathered about the " Slvimmer of the 
Seas," at the sound of his voice. Glancing an eye over them, as if to scan their 
quality and numbei', he smiled, with a look in which high daring and jiractised self- 
command was blended ^vith a constitutional i/rt^^d de fantr. 

"One deck, or two!" — he added; "what avails a plank, more or less, in an e.\]ilo- 
sion ?— FoUow !" 

The free-trader and his people disajjpeared in tlie interior of the ship. An interval 
of great and resolute exertion succeede<l. Blankets, sails, and every thing which 
offered, and which promised to be of use, were wetted and cast upon the flames. 
The engine was brought to bear, and the ship was deluged with water. But the con- 
fined space, with the heat and smoke, rendered it impossible to penetrate to those 
parts of the vessel where the conflagration raged. The ardor of the men abated as 
hope lessened, and after half an hour of fruitless exertion, Ludlow saw, vAxh pain, that 
his assistants began to yield to the inextinguishable principle of nature. The appear- 
ance of the Skimmer on deck, followed by all his people, destroyed hojie, and every 
effort ceased as suddenly as it had commenced. 

" Think of your wounded," whispered the free-trader, with a steadiness no danger 
could disturb. " We stand on a raging volcano !" 

" I have ordered the gunner to drown the magazine." 

" Ho was too late. The hold of the shi]i is a fiery furnace. I heard him fall among 
the store-rooms, and it surpassed tlie ])ower of man to give tlie wretch succor. The 
grenade has fallen near some combustibles, and, painful as it is to part with a ship so 
loved, Ludlow, thou wilt meet the loss like a man ! Think of thy woimded ; my boats 
arc still hanging at tlie Ftern." 

Ludlow reluctantly, but firmly, gave tlie order to bear the wounded to the boats. 
This was an arduous and delicate duty. The smallest boy in the ship knew the whole 
extent of the danger, and that a moment, by the explosion of the powder, might 
precipitate them all into eternity. The deck forward was getting too hot to be 
endured, and there were places even in which the beams had given symptoms of 
yielding. 
30 



234 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

But the poop, elevated still above the fire, offered a inoiiieiitary refuge. Thither 
all retired, while the weak and woimded were lowered, with tlie caution cironmstanees 
would permit, into the whale-boats of the smugglers. 

Ludlow stood at one ladder and the free-trader at the other, in order to be certain 
that none jn-oved recreant in so trying a moment. Near them were Alida, Seadrift, 
and the Alderman, with the attendants of the former. 

It seemed an age, before this hiunane and tender duty M-as jierformed. At length 
the cry of " all in!" was uttered, in a manner to betray the extent of the self-command 
that had been necessary to effect it. 

"Now, Alida, we may think of thee!" said Ludlow, turning to the spot occupied 
by the silent heiress. 

" And you !" she said, hesitating to move. 

" Duty demands that I should be the last " 

A sharjj oxj)losion beneath, and fragments of fire flying upward through a hatch, 
interrupted his words. Plunges into the sea, and a rush of the people to the boats, 
followed. All order and authority were conqiletely lost, in the instinct of life. In 
vain did Ludlow call on his men to be cool, and to wait for those who were still above. 
His words were lost, in the u])roar of clamorous voices. For a moment it seemed, 
however, as if the Skimmer of the Seas would overcome the confusion. Throwing 
himself on a ladder, he glided into the bows of one of the boats, and, holding by the 
ropes with a vigorous arm, he resisted the efforts of all the oars and boat-hooks, while 
he denounced destruction on him who dared to quit the ship. Had not the two crews 
been mingled, the high authority and determined mien of the free-trader would have 
prevailed; but while some were disjjosed to obey, others raised the cry of "throw the 
dealer in witchcrat't into the sea!" — Boat-hooks were already jiointed at his breast, and 
the horrors of tlie fearful nn)ment were about to be increased bj' the violence of a 
mutinous contention, when a second explosion nerved the arms of the rowers to mad- 
ness. With a common and desperate effort, they overcame all resistance. Swinging 
off upon the ladder, the furious seaman saw the boat glide from Ids grasp, and depart. 
The execration that was uttered, beneath the stern of the Coquette, was deep and 
powerful; but, in another moment, the Skimmer stood on the poop, calm and unde- 
tected, in the centre of the deserted group. 

" The explosion of a few of the officers' pistols has frightened the miscreants," he 
said, cheerfully. " But hope is not yet lost ! — they linger in the distance, and may 
return !" 

The sight of the helpless party on the poop, and the consciousness of being less 
exposed themselves, had indeed arrested the progress of the fugitives. Still, selfish- 
ness predominated ; and while most regretted their danger, none but the young and 
unheeded midshipmen, who were neither of an age nor rank to wield sufficient author- 
ity, proposed to return. There was little ai-gument necessary to show that the perils 



F 1 R K 1 235 

increased at each moment ; and finding that no other expedient remained, the gaDaut 
youths encouraged the men to pull toward the land, intending themselves to return 
instantly to the assistance of their commander and his friends. The oars dashed into 
the water again, and the retiring boats were soon lost to view in the body of darkness. 

While the fire had been raging within, anotlier element, without, had aided to 
lessen hope for those who were abandoned. The wind fi'om the land had continued to 
rise, and, during the time lost in useless exertion, the sliip had been permitted to run 
nearly before it. When hope was gone, the helm had been deserted, and as all the 
lower sails had been hauled up to avoid the flames, the vessel had drifted, many 
minutes, nearly dead to leeward. The nustaken youths, who had not attended to these 
circumstances, were already miles from that beach they hoped to reach so soon ; and 
ere the boats had separated from the ship five minutes, they were hopelessly asunder. 
Ludlow had early thought of the expedient of stranding the vessel, as the means of 
saving her people ; but his better knowledge of their position soon showed him the 
utter futility of the attempt. 

Of the progress of the flames beneath, tlie mariners could only judge by circum- 
stances. The Skimmer glanced his eye about him, on regaining the poop, and ajjpeared 
to scan the amount and quality of the physical force that was still at their disposal. 
He saw that the Alderman, the faithful Frangois, and two of his own seamen, with four 
of the petty ofiicers of the ship, remained. The six latter, even in that moment of 
desperation, had calmly refused to desert their officers. 

"The flames are in the state-rooms !" he whispered to Ludlow. 

" No further aft, I think, than the berths of the midshipmen — else we should hear 
more pistols." 

"True — they are fearful signals to let us know the progress of the fire! — our 
resource is a raft." 

Ludlow looked as if he despaired of the means ; but, concealing the discouraging 
fear, he answered cheerfully in the aflarmative. The orders were instantly given, and 
all on board gave themselves to the task, heart and hand. The danger was one that 
admitted of no ordinary or half-conceived expedients ; but, in such an emergency, it 
required all the readiness of their art, and even the greatness of that conception which 
is the property of genius. All distinctions of rank and authority had ceased, except as 
deference was paid to natural qualities and the intelligence of experience, fnder 
such circumstances, the " Skimmer of the Seas" took the lead ; and though Ludlow 
caught his ideas with professional quickness, it was the miml of the free-trader that 
controlled, throughout, the succeeding exertions of that fearful night. 

The cheek of Alida was blanched to a deadly paleness ; but there rested about the 
bright and wild eyes of Seadrift an expression of supernatural resolution. 

When the crew abandoned the hope of extinguishing the flames, they had closed 
all the hatches, to retard the crisis as much as possible. Here and there, however. 



236 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

little torch-like lights were beginning to show themselves through the planks, and the 
whole deck, forward of the main-mast, was already in a critical and sinking state. 
One or two of tlie beams had failed, but, as yet, the form of the construction was 
preserved. Still, the seamen distrusted the treacherous footing, .ind, had the heat 
permitted the experiment, they would have shrunk from a risk which at any unex- 
pected moment might commit them to the fiery furnace beneath. 

The smoke ceased, and a clear, powerful liglit ilhiminated the shiji to her trucks. 
In consequence of the care and exertions of her people, the sails and masts were yet 
Tuitouched ; and as the graceful canvas swelled with the lireeze, it still urged the 
blazing hull tlirough the water. 

The forms of the Skimmer and his .assistants were visible in the midst of the gallant 
gear, perched on the giddy yards. Seen by that light, with his peculiar attire, his firm 
and certain ste]), and his resolute air, the free trader resembled some fancied sea-god, 
who, secure in his immortal immunities, had come to act his part in that awful but 
exciting trial of hardihood an<l skill. Seconded by the common men, he was employed 
in cutting the canvas from the yards. Sail after sail fell upon the deck, and in an 
incredibly short space of time, the whole of the fore-mast was naked to its spars and 
rigging. 

In the mean time, Ludlow, assisted by the Alderman and Francois, had not been 
idle below. Passing forward between the empty lidge-ropes, lanyard after lanyard 
parted under the blows of their little boarding-axes. The mast now depended on the 
strength of the wood and the support of a single back-stay. 

" Lay down !" shouted Ludlow. " All is gone aft, but this stay !" 

The Skimmer leaped upon the firm rope, followed by all aloft, and, gliding down- 
ward, he was instantly in the hammock-cloths. A crash followed their descent, and an 
explosion, which caused the whole of the burning fabric to tremble to its centre, 
seemed to announce the end of all. Even the free-trader recoiled before the horrible 
din ; but when he stood near Seadrift and the heiress again, there was cheerfulness in 
his tones, and a look of high and even of gay resolution in his firm countenance. 

" The deck has failed forward," he said, " and our artillery is beginning to utter 
fearful sigiuil-guns ! Be of cheer ! the magazine of a ship lies dee}), and many sheathed 
bidkheads still protect us." 

Another discharge from a heated gnu, however, proclaimed the rapid progress of 
the flames. The fire broke out of the interior anew, and the fore-mast kindled. 

"There must be an end of tliis!" said Alida, clasping her hands in a teri-or that 
could not be controlled. " Save yourselves, if possible, you who have strength and 
courage, and leave us to the mercy of Him whose eye is over all !" 

" Go !" added Seadrift, whose sex could no longer be concealed. " Human courage 
can do no more ; leave us to die." 

The hioks that were returned to these sad requests were melancholy but unmoved. 



FIRK! 



237 



The Skimmer caught a rope, and still holding it in his hand, he descended to the 
quarter-deck, on wliich he at first trusted his weight with jealous caution. Then 
looking up, he smiled encouragingly, and said : " Where a gun still stands, there is no 
danger for the weiglit of a man!"' 

" It is our only resource," cried Ludlow, imitating his exami)le. " On, my men, 
while the beams will stUl hold us."' 

In a moment all were on the quarter-deck, though the excessive heat rendered it 
impossible to remain stationary an instant. A gun on each side was run in, its tackles 
loosened, and its muzzle jxiinted toward the tottering, xmsupported, but still upright 
fore-mast. 

"Aim at the elects!" said Ludlow to the Skimmer, who pointed one gun, while he 
did the same office at the other. 

" Hold !" cried the latter. " Throw in shot — it is but the chance between a 
bursting gun and a lighted magazine !" 

Additional balls were introduced into eacli piece, and then, with steady hands, the 
gallant mariners apjiHed burning brands to the priming. The discharges were simul- 
taneous, and, for an instant, volumes of smoke rolled along the deck, and seemed to 
triumph over the conflagration. The rending of wood was audible. It was followed 
by a sweeping noise in the air, and the fall of the fore-mast, with all its bur<len of spars, 
into the sea. The motion of the ship was instantly arrested, and, as the heavy timbers 
were still attached to the bowsprits by the forward stays, her head came to the wind, 
when the remaining topsails flapped, shivered, and took aback. 

The vessel was now, for the first time during the fire, stationary. The common 
mariners profited by the circumstance, and, darting j)ast the mounting flame along the 
bulwarks, they gained the tojigallant-forecastle, which, though heated, was yet un- 
touched. The Skimmer glanced an eye about him, and seizing Seadrift by the waist, 
as if the mimic seaman had been a chUd, he pushed forward between the ridge-ropes. 
Ludlow followed with Alida, and the others imitated their example in the best manner 
they could. AU reached the head of the ship in safety; though Ludlow had been 
driven by the flames into the fore-channels, and thence nearly into the sea. 

The petty oflicers were already on the floating spars, separating them from each 
other, cutting away the tmneeessary weight of rigging, bringmg the several parts of the 
wood in parallel lines, and lashing them anew. Ever and anon, these rapid movements 
were quickened by one of those fearful signals from the otficers' berths, which, by an- 
nouncing the progress of the flames beneath, betrayed their increasing proximity to 
the still shnnbering volcano. The boats had been gone an hour, and yet it seemed, to 
all in the ship, l)ut a minute. The conflagration had, for the last ten minutes, advanced 
with renewed fury ; and the whole of the confined flame, which had been so long pent 
in the depths of the vessel, now glared high in the open air. 

"This heat can no Ion (jer be borne," said Ludlow, "we must to our raft, for breath." 



238 P A G E S A X Li F 1 C T U R E S . 

"To the raft, then !" returned the cheerful voice of the free-trader. " Haul iu upon 
your fasts, men, and stand Ijy to receive the precious freight." 

The seamen obeyed, Alida ami her companions were lowei-ed safely to the ]jlace pre- 
pared for their reception. Tlie fore-mast hail gone over the side with all its spars aloft; 
for ])reparation had been ina<le, before the fire commenced, to carry sail to the utmost, 
in order to escape the enemy. The sldlful and active seamen, directed and aided by 
Ludlow and the Skimmer, had made a simple but happy disposition of those buoyant 
materials on which their all now depended. In settling in the water, the yards, still 
crossed, had happily fallen uppermost. The booms and all the light Sjjars had been 
floated near the top, and laid across, reaching from the lov.-er to the topsail-yard. A 
few light spars, stowed outboard, had been cut away and adde<l to the number, and the 
whole were secured with the readiness and ingenuity of seamen. On the first alarm of 
fire, some of the crew had seized a few light articles that would float, and rushed to the 
head, as the place most remote from the magazine, iu the blind hope of saving life by 
swimming. Most of these articles had been deserted, when the people were rallied to 
e.xertion by their officers. A couple of empty shot-boxes and a mess-chest were among 
them, and on the latter were seated the females, while the former served to keep 
their feet from the water. As the arrangement of the spars forced the principal mast 
entirely beneath the element, and the ship was so small as to need little artificial work 
in her masting, the port around the top, which contained the staging, was scarcely sub- 
merged. Although a ton in weight was added to the inherent gravity of the wood, 
still, as the latter was of the lightest description, and freed as much as possible of every 
thing that was unnecessary to the safety of those it supported, the sjoars floated suf- 
ficiently buoyant for the temporary security of the fugitives. 

" Cut the fast !" said Ludlow, involuntarily starting at several explosions in the in- 
terior, which followed each other in quick succession, and which were succeeded by one 
which sent fragments of burning wood into the air. " Cut, and bear the raft off the 
ship ! — God knows, we have need to be further asunder !" 

" Cut not !" cried the half-frantic Seadrift ; " my brave ! — my devoted ! — " 

"Is safe," calmly said the Skimmer, a])pearing in the rattling of the main-rigging, 
which was still untouched by the fire. "Cut ofi" all! I stay to brace the mizen-topsail 
more firmly back." 

The duty was done, and for a moment the fine figure of the free-trader was seen 
standing on the edge of the burning ship, looking with regret at the glowing mass. 

" 'Tis the end of a lovely craft !" he said, loud enough to be heard by those beneath. 
Then he appeared in the air, and sank into the sea. " The last signal was from the 
ward-room," atlded the dauntless and dexterous mariner, as he rose from the water, 
and, shaking the brine from his head, he took his place on the stage. " Would to 
God the wind would blow, for we have need of greater distance !" 

The precaution the free-trader had taken, in adjusting the sails, was not without its 



i^lRKi 239 

use. Motion the i-:ift luul none, but as the topsails of the Coquette were still aback, 
the flaming mass, no longer arrested by the clogs in the water, began slowly to separate 
from the floating spars, though the tottering and half-burnt masts threatened at each 
moment to foil. 

Never did moments seem so long as those which succeeded. Even the Skimmer 
and Ludlow watched, in speechless interest, the tardy movements of the shi]). By 
little and little she receded ; and, after ten minutes of intense expectation, the sea- 
men, whose anxiety ha<l increased as their exertions ended, began to breathe more 
freely. They were still fearfully near the dangerous fabric, but destruction from the 
explosion was no longer inevitable. The flames began to glide upward, and then the 
heavens appeared on fire, as one heated sail after another kindled and flared wildly in 
the breeze. 

Still the stern of the vessel was entire. The body of the master was seated 
against the mizen-niast, and even the stern visage of the old seaman was distinctly 
visible, under the broad light of the conflagration. Ludlow gazed at it in melancholy, 
and for a time he ceased to think of his .-ihip, while memory dwelt, in sadness, on 
those scenes of boyish happiness, and of professional pleasures, in which his ancient 
shipmate had so largely participated. The roar of a gun, whose stream of fire flashed 
nearly to their faces, and the sullen whistling of its shot, which crossed the raft, 
failed to awaken him from his trance. 

" Stand firm to the mess-chest !" half- whispered the Skimmer, motioning to his com- 
panions to place themselves in attitudes to support the weaker of their jiarty, while, 
with sedulous care, he braced his own athletic jierson in a manner to throw all of its 
weight and strength against the seat. "Stand firm, and be ready!" 

Ludlow complied, though his eye scarce changed its direction. He saw the bright 
flame that was rising above the arm-chest, and he fancied that it came from the funeral 
pile of the young Dumont, whose fate, at that moment, he was almost disposed to 
envy. Then his look returned to the grim countenance of Trysail. At moments, it 
seemed as if the dead master spoke ; and so strong did the illusion become, that our 
young sailor more than once bent forward to listen. While under this delusion, the 
body rose, with the arms stretched upward. The air was filled with a sheet of stream- 
ing fire, while the ocean and the heavens glowed with one glare of intense and fiery 
red. Notwithstanding the precavttion of the " Skimmer of the Seas," the chest was 
driven from its ])lace, and those by whom it was held were nearly precipitated into the 
water. A deep, heavy detonation proceeded, as it were, from the bosom of the sea, 
which, while it wounde<l the ear less than the sharp explosion that had just before 
issued from the gun, was audible at the distant capes of the Delaware. The body of 
Trysail sailed upward for fifty fathoms, in the centre of a flood of flame, and, describ- 
ing a short curve, it came toward the raft, and cut the water within reach of the 
captain's arm. A sullen plunge of a gun followed, and proclaimed the tremendous 



240 



PAGES AND 1' I C T U U E S . 



power of the exjJosion ; while :i pondei-oiis yard fell athwart a part of the raft, 
sweeping away the four petty officers of Ludlow, as if tliey had been dust driving 
before a gale. To increase the wild and fearful grandeur of the dissolution of the 
royal cruiser, one of the cannon emitted its fiery contents while sailing in the void. 

The burning spars, the falUng fragments, the blazing and scattered canvas and 
cordage, the glowing shot, and all the torn particles of the ship, were seen-descending. 
Then followed the gurgling of water, as the ocean swallowed all that remained of the 
cruiser which had so long been the pride of the American seas. The fiery glow dis- 
appeared, and a gloom like that which succeeds the glare of vivid lightning, fell on the 
scene. 





XI. 



THE BRAVO. 



It was ditring the choice days of an Italian spring, when the country was in 
all the luxuriant freshness of its beautiful vegetation, that the American author 
left Eome, after the winter passed there. "The first stopping-place was Civita 
Castellana ; a town which, like Sorrento, has a natural ditch, formed by the 
crevices of the volcanic rock. * * * A bridge carried us over the Tiber, and 
we began to ascend the Apennines. We breakfasted on theu' side, at a hamlet, 
and leaving the horses to bait, I walked ahead. It was a solitary, wild mountain 
road, though perfectly good ; aud I soon fell in company with a party of pilgrims 
on their retui-n from Rome. Tliese men carried the staves and scrips, aud wore a 
species of light cloak, with the capes covered with scallop-shells. They were con- 
versable, and any thing but solemn or wayworn. They had been attending some 
of the recent ceremonies at Rome. Passing through vineyards, olive-trees, and 
fruit-trees, we reached the little city of Terui, prettily placed on the river ISTera, 
in the centre of a very fertile region. The falls are more than a league from the 
town, as we found to our cost, for we made the mistake of undertaking to walk to 
them. These celebrated falls are artificial, having been made by the Romans 
some centuries before Christ, by turning the course of a pretty little stream. They 
are reputed the finest waterfalls in Europe — a quarter of the world that, with 
31 



242 PAGES AND PICTUKES. 

many cascades, has few fine cataracts. There is a " method in the madness" of 
these falls, however, which I think slightly impairs their beanty, thongh very 
beautiful they are. Between Terni and Spoleto we had another reach of moun- 
tains and moiantain scenery. There are Roman remains at the latter town, which 
is prettily placed on a rocky and irregular hill, thought to be an extinct crater. 
A long aqueduct, called Roman in the books, lias gothic arches. There is also 
a high bridge across a A'alley, leading to a hermitage ; a proof of what religious 
feeling can eft'ect, even when ill-directed. There is a poetry, notwithstanding, 
about these hermitages, which makes them pleasing objects to a traveller. I may 
have seen, first and last, a hundred of them in Europe. Very few are now ten- 
anted. Tliose of Italy arc generally the finest in position. The valley beyond 
Spoleto was very beautiful. On one side there is a cbte^ as the French term it, 
and houses and churches were clinging to its sides, almost buried in fruit-trees. 
While trotting along pleasantly, beneath this teeming hill-side, we came to a small 
brick edifice, standing near tlie highway, while meadows were spreading themselves 
on oiir left, more like a country north than south of the Alps. This is the temple of 
the Clitummis, standing near tlie sources of that classical stream ; it is now a 
Christian chapel. You would be surprised to find these temples so small. Tliis 
is the twentieth I have seen, not much larger than a good-sized maize crib of a 
Yankee farmer. The workmanship of this is neat, but plain ; though its marbles 
may have shared the fate of so many desjioiled amphitheatres, theatres, forums, and 
temples, found all over Italy. It is M-ith these ruins as with our departed friends ; 
we never tnily prize them until they are irretrievably lost. Beyond Foligno the 
road was beaiatiful, carrying us over a spur of the Apennines called the Col Fiorito. 
It had at first a sort of camera-lucide wildness about it — a boldness that "was quite 
striking, though in miniature after the Alps ; and as the day drew toward a close, 
we rolled, by a gradual and almost imperceptible descent, into a lovely region, 
affluent in towns, villas, hamlets, and all other appliances of civilized life. This 
Mas the March of Ancona. The fine country continued next day ; the Adriatic 
becoming visible, a silvery belt on the horizon, distant some eight or ten leagues. 
All the towns in this region appear to be built on isolated hills, that once ad- 
mitted of being strongly fortified. About three in the afternoon we came to the 
foot of another ridge, running at right angles to the coast of the Adriatic, from 
which it might be distant about a league. The ascent was long, but not difficult. 
Having overcome it, we reached a village of a single long street, terminated by a 
pretty good square, and a large church, with other ecclesiastical edifices, tolerably 
spacious even for the States of the Church. These were the village and shrine of 
Loretto. * * * The history of this shrine, as it is given in books sold on the 



THE BRAVO. 243 

spot, is as follows : The lioiise, of course, is asserted to have been built in Naza- 
reth, where the Saviour was reared. In 1291, angels raised it from its foundations, 
and transported it to Dalniatia. There it remained four or five years, when angels 
again transferred it to Italy. It was first placed i:i a wood near Reconati, on the 
land ()f a lady named Lauretta, whence the present name of Loretto. The road to 
it being much infested by robbers, the angels again removed it a short distance, 
leaving it on the property of two brothers. These brothers quarrelled and fought 
about the profits of the pilgrims, who began to frequent tlie shrine in throngs, 
and botli were killed ; whereupon the house was finally removed to its present 
site. What is one to think of such a history ? Do they who promulgate it 
believe it themselves ; or is it a mere fiction invented to deceive ? Ca)i it be 
true? Certainly it miglit, as well as that this earth could be created, and 
continue to roll in its orbit, /s- it true? That is far more than I should 
affirm, or even believe, supported by such incomplete proofs, accompanied with 
circumstances of so little dignity, and facts so little worthy of the display of 
Divine power. Do the people themselves, wlio frequent the shrine, believe it? 
Of that I shotdd think there could be little doubt, as respects tlie majority. I 
cannot express to you the feelings with which I saw my fellow-creatures kneeling 
at this shrine, and manifesting every sign of a devout reliance on the truth of this 
extraordinary legend. The Santa Casa, or the shrme, stands near the centre of 
the cliurch erected around it as an honorable canopy. The house has been cased 
externally with Carrara marble, wrouglit beautifully, after designs of Bramanti. 
The image of the Virgin, whicli is separated frona those within the house by a 
grating, is said to be made of the cedar of Lebanon, and it wears a triple crown. 
It is gorgeously attired, bears a figure of the Child in one arm, and has the 
bronzed, mysterious countenance that is common to find about all the more re- 
nowned images of Mary. I cannot discover liow far the Church of Rome, at this 
day, attaches importance to belief in tlie history of tlie Santa Casa. So far as I 
can discover, intelligent Catholics, especially tliose out of Italy, wish to overlook 
this shrine. Certainly I should say that the more enlightened Catholics, even 
here, regard the whole account with distrust ; for lie who really believes that 
God had made such a manifestation of His \vill, could scarcely hesitate about 
worshipping at the shrine, if he worshipped at all, since the building would not 
have been transferred by a miracle without a motive. It is fair, then, to suppose 
that few among the intelligent now put any faith in the tradition ; for it is certain, 
few of that class continue to make pilgrimages to the spot. The time will probably 
come when shrine and legend will be abandoned together." 

At Ancona the American traveller first stood on the shores of the Adriatic. 



244 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

His sailor's instincts hurried him as usual to the port. Such, indeed, was ever his 
habit while travelling, especially after having been shut up for a time in some 
inland situation — his friends often smiling at the almost boyish eagerness with 
which he enjoyed the odor of rope, pitch, and tar, and the lively interest with 
which he would examine two or three rusty -looking craft, in some insignificant 
harbor. "The port of Ancona is formed by tlie bluif, against the side of which 
the town is principally built, aided by a mole of considerable extent. A part of 
this mole is very ancient, for there is an arch on it raised in honor of Trajan. 
Another arch farther advanced, shows that the Popes have greatly added to the 
work. The harljor is pretty safe, l>ut it appears to want water. Here we first 
stood on the shores of the Adriatic. The color of this sea is less beautiful than 
that of the Mediterranean ; its M'aters having a stronger resemblance to those 
of our own coast than to tliose of the neighboring sea. * * * On leaving 
Ancona next morning, we commenced a journey of some twenty or thirty leagues 
along the coast, within a mile or two of the Adriatic, and with constant views of 
the sea. The first stage was to Sinigaglia, a })retty little town, with a sort of port ; 
for all the places along this shore have some pretensions to be considered seaports, 
although the coast is a low, sandy beach, almost without points, or bays, or head- 
lands ; a small creek has usually sufficed to commence a harbor, and by means of 
excavations, and perhaps a small mole at the outlet, to prevent the accumulation 
of sands by the south winds, the thing has usually been effected. We saw the 
remains of a considerable castle near La Cattolica. It was rather a striking 
structure of the sort for Italy ; this country not being at all remarkable for build- 
ings of that nature. One reads of moated castles among the Apennines in Mrs. 
Kadcliffe's novels ; but I have not yet seen an edifice in all Italy that would at 
all justify her descriptions. Such things may be, but none have lain in my path. 
With the exception of Castel Guelfo, near Modena, and tlie regular forts and 
citadels, I do not remember to have seen a moated building in the country. Some 
of the castles on the heights are gloriously picturesque, it is true, that of Ischia being 
a striking example. But, on the whole, I should say few parts of Europe have so 
little embellishment in this way as Italy. Most of the fortresses of the middle 
ages, in this part of the world, were nuide out of tlie ruins of Il()mau works. 
Walking ahead of the carriage this morning, we amused ourselves for several 
hours on the beach ; the cliildren gathering shells on the shores of the Adriatic. 
The scenery improved as we advanced, the mountains drawing nearer to the 
coast, and the foreground becoming undulating and verdant. We had the sea 
always on our right, and seized every good occasion for strolling on the banks." 
After a brief pause at Bologna, and another at Ferrara, the American traveller 



T H K B H A V U . 



245 




moved eastward toward Venice : " I cannot say that the villas on the Brente at 
all equalled my expectation. The monotony of a country as level as Holland, 
and the landscape gardening that is confined to flowers, and allees, and exotics, 
compare ill with the broader beauties of the Hudson, or the high finish of the 
lawns on the Thames. Tlie road and river showed signs of a crowded popula- 
tion, and we were amused in that way, but scarcely in raptures with the sylvan 
charms of the scenery. A part of our road, however, ran athwart a common. 
At this point, looking across the bay on our right, a town appeared rising above 
the water, singularly resembling New York, as seen from the low lands near 
Powles' Hook. The presence of domes, and the absence of shipping, told of the 
difference, however. I need scarcely add, the town was Venice — the water, the 
intervening lagoons. We were soon afloat. Venice has recentlv been declared 
a free port ; a line of wooden posts, with painted tops, encircles the whole town, 
perhaps a mile from the islands. After a pull of an hour, the boat entered a 
broad canal, lined with palaces and nol)le houses. Passing through this, we came 
to another, which seemed to be the main artery, smaller lateral canals communi- 
cating with it, at short distances. Across the lesser canals we could see, among 
dark ravines of houses, numberless narrow bridges trodden by foot-passengers. 
Over the larger channel, which was the Grand Canal, there was but one ; this 
was of stone, covered with low buildings ; its length was great ; its single arch 
was high and ptiinted, though not Gothic. As we glided beneath it, vessels that 
might contend with the Adriatic appeared beyond, the water gradually widening. 
The bridge was the Eialto, the water the Canal Grande, and the oj>ening beyond 
the port. We disembarked at the Leone Bianco. We were in the centre of a 



24:6 PAGES AND PICTURKS. 

civilization entirely novel. On entering the inn we found cm-selves in a large 
paved hall, only a step or two above the water, and in the corner lay a gondola. 
From the windows we saw boats gliding abont in all directions, bnt no noise was 
heard bej'ond the plash of an oar — no sound of wheel or hoof rattling over pave- 
ment. The fall of a rope in the water might be beard a considerable distance. 
Every thing was strange — thongh a sailoi-, and accustomed to water, I had never 
seen a city afloat. It was now evening ; bnt a fine moon was shedding its liglit on 

the scene, rendering it fairy-like. C and myself quitted the inn, for he told 

me there was something he wished me to see before I slept. Instead of taking a 
boat, we passed into the rear of tlie inn, and found ourselves in a street. I had 
believed until then that Venice had no streets. On the contrary, the whole town 
is intersected in this way ; the bridges over the smaller canals serving as com- 
munication between these streets, whicli, however, are usually only eight or ten 
feet wide. That we followed was lined witli shops, and it seemed a great 
thoroughfare. Its width varied from ten to twenty feet. Following this passage, 
in itself a novelty, we inclined a little to the right, passed beneath an arch, and 
issued into the great Square of St. Mark. No other scene in a town ever struck 
me with so much surprise and pleasure. Three sides of this large area were sur- 
rounded by palaces, with arcades ; on the fourth stood a low ancient church, of an 
architecture so quaint — having oriental domes, and external ornaments so peculiar 
— tliat I felt as if transported to a scene in the Arabian Nights. The moon, with 
its mild delusive light, aided the deception, the forms rising beneath it still more 
fanciful and quaint. You will know, at once, this was the Church of St. Mark. 
Another area communicates with the first, extending from it, at right angles, to 
the bay. Two sides only of this square, which is called the Piazzetta, were 
built on ; the side next the Piazza, or Great Square, and that toward the sea, 
being open. On one of the other sides of this area the line of palaces was con- 
tinued, and on the other rose the celebrated Ducal residence. This was, if pos- 
sible, still more oriental and quaint than tlie churcli, transferring the mind at 
once to the events of the East, and to the days of Venetian greatness and j^ower. 
On every side were objects of interest. Tlie two large columns near the sea were 
trophies of one conquest ; the ranges of little columns on the church were 
trophies of a hundred more ; the great stairway, at which we looked tlirough 
an arch, were the ' Giant's Stairs,' and tlie openings in the walls above them the 
Lions" Mouths ! This huge tower is tlie Campanile, which has stood there a thou- 
sand years rooted in nnid ; and those spars let into the pavement, in front of the 
church, are the very same on wlucii the conquered standards of Cyprus, and 
Caudia, and the Morea, were wont to flap. The noble group of horses in bronze, 



THE BRAVO. 24:7 

above tlie great door, is the group restored at last to its resting-place of cen- 
turies. Passing tlie front of the palace of the Doge, facing the sea, by an area 
that lines its noble exterior — which is the celebrated Broglio, wliere none but the 
noble ontie walked, and where intrigues were formerly so rife — we came to the 
bridge which spans the canal that girts the rear of church and palace. The covered 
gallery, thrown across this canal, at the height of a story or two above the ground, 
connecting the jjalace with the prisons opposite, was the Bridge of Sighs ! By 
the side of the water-gate beneath were the submarine dungeons, and I had only 
to look toward the roof to imagine the position of the Piombi. Then there was 
the port, lighted by a soft moon, and dotted with vessels of quaint rigs, with the 
sea-breeze fanning the cheek — the distant Lido beyond — and dark, hearse-like 
gondolas, gliding in every direction. Certainly no other place ever struck my 
imagination so forcibly ; and never before did I experience so much pleasure, 
from novel objects, in so short a time. "' * '- I have set up my own gondola, 
and we have been regularly at work looking at sights for the last week. "\Ve 
have visited half the churches picture-hunting ; and a queer thing it is to draw 
up to a noble portico in your gondola, to land, and find yourself in one of the 
noblest edifices of Europe. The sea-breezes fan the shrine, and sometimes the 
spray and surf are leaping about them, as if they were rocks on a strand. St. 
Mark's is as quaint internally as its exterior. It is an odd jumble of magnificence, 
and of tastes that are almost barbarous. The imitation mosaics, in particular, 
are something like what one might expect to see at the court of the Incas. The 
pavement of this church is undulating, like low waves — a sort of sleeping ground- 
swell. C thinks it intentional, by way of marine poetry, to denote the 

habits of the people ; but I fancy it is more probably poetical justice, a reward 
for not driving home the piles. Tlie effect is odd, for you almost fancy you are 
afloat, as you walk over the undulating surface. * * * Titian, Tintoretto, and 
Paiil Veronese, are seen only in Venice ; good pictures of the first are certainly 
found elsewhere, but here you find him in a blaze of glory, lou know the 
French carried away every work of art they could. They even attempted to 
remove fresco paintings — a desecration that merited the overthrow of their power. 
One great picture in Venice, however, escaped them ; it stood in a dark chapel, 
so completely covered with dust and smoke that no one attended to it. Within 
a few years, however, some artist had the curiosity to examine into the subject 
of this unknown altar-piece. The picture was taken down, and being thoroughly 
cleaned, it proved to be one of the most gorgeous Titians extant. Some think it 
his thef-cTceuvre. The subject is the Assumption, which he has treated in a 
manner very difterent from that of Murillo, all of whose virgins are in white. 



248 PAGKS AND PICTURES. 

while this of Titian's is red. Tlie picture is now kept in the Academ}-, and imi- 
tations of it are seen on half tlie ornamental manufactures of Venice. All the 
painters who create, or revive their ai't, commence ^vith the head, which they 
paint well long before they can draw the form at all. The works of the old 
masters exhibit heavenly countenances on spiders' legs, as any one knows who 
has ever seen a picture of Geotto. A picture here by John of Bellino, the master 
of Titian, has much of this about it; l)ut it is a gem. I liked it better than any 
thing I saw, one fresco painting excepted. Some of the carvings in the churches, 
in high reliefs surpass any thing of the sort I have ever seen ; and, in general, 
there is an affluence of ornaments and of works of merit that renders these 
edifices second to few besides those of Rome. A monument by Canova, designed 
for Titian, has received a new destination, by being erected in honor of the 
sculptor himself; it is an extraordinary work, Cjuite unique. Besides the main 
group, there are detached figures, standing several feet aloof; and the efiect of 
this work, which is beautifully chiselled out of spotless marble, beneath the 
gloomv arches of the chnrch, is singularly dramatic and startling. One is afraid 
to commend the conceit, and yet it is impossible not to admire the result. Still I 
think the admirable thought of Nahl renders his humble Swiss tomb the sub- 
limest thing of the kind in Europe." 



-—-.'. ~3^^i 



.ff 




The mind of the American author was very deeply impressed with these 
views of Venice — that very Nereid among earth's gorgeous capitals, whose whole 
existence for long ages has been a brilliant marvel ; most picturesque among mu- 
nicipalities ; most poetical among the daughters of commerce ; most thrifty, most 
politic among the daughters of art ; most oriental among the children of Cliristian 
Europe ; most stately, most beautiful, most elegant, among the proud daughters of 
the sea ; most gay and gorgeous, most heartless, most tyrannical Queen among 
earth's crowning cities. Here was just the material to attract the imagination of 
one who was both seaman and poet at heart. For weeks the traveller went gliding 



THE BRAVO. 249 

along the noiseless canals, in the easy gondola — reminding him in form and light- 
ness, as he tells ns, of the Indian canoe of hai-k; now stepping from the graceful 
and shadowy skiti" into the portal of some sacred pile, and now leaping from the 
boat into the aquatic hall of some old palace, all marble to the eye, between 
water and sky. Until now he had had but a vague general idea of the history of 
Venice — of the spirit of her government. The first glow of enchantment, excited 
by the outward aspect of the beautiful city, had scarcely passed awa}', when he 
became very curious with regard to the details of the political history of that 
singular government. He procured several of the principal works on this subject, 
and read them with lively interest. An insiglit into the interior working of that 
political system filled him with indignation. Its heartless trifling with the most 
sacred rights of individuals, where these came in the remotest degree into conflict 
with the one great object — the aggrandisement of the power of San Marco — excited 
his horror. The singular blending of admiration for the outward aspect of the 
marvellous city, and indignation against the tyranny of the jjolitical system which 
for ages lived a life of crime in the secret chambers of its councils, soon led him 
to form the idea of writing a work in which views of botii, as distinct and just as 
his pen could draw them, should be given to the reader. Tlie tale called " The 
Bravo" was the result of this attempt — a romance especially political in its char- 
acter, and among the very first, it is believed, of books of that class, since then 
become quite numerous. The task the author had allotted himself was thoroughly 
carried out ; a fearful picture of the heartless cruelty of the Venetian oligarchy, 
in its secret workings, is laid before the reader — and yet it is a picture which, in 
no particular, surpasses, in the darkness of its coloring, what history has revealed 
on the same subject. It was the opinion of Mr. Cooper that an aristocracy must, 
from its verv nature, be a dangerous form of government; as a general rule, he 
belie\'ed a prolonged aristocracy more likely to jjrove coldly selfish, tyrannical, 
and treacherous, than either a monarchy or a democracy. And this danger he 
believed to flow from its irresponsible character, united to the great strength to 
which such a form of government may attain by the concentration of talent, 
wealth, legislative and executive power, within a circle sutficiently narrow for the 
most decisive action, wliile, like all coiijorate bodies, it is lacking in the restraints 
of individual responsibility. Even in an absolute monarchy, he held that there 
would be greater hope, during an evil hour, from change of counsel, and from the 
responsibility inevitably connected with a single head. While, fearful as he knew 
the latent power for evil to be in a democracy, he believed it to be ever temj)ered 
by that latent jiower for good, flowing, in an educated Christian connnmuty, from 
its higher principles of natural justice and truth — which, in a system allowing full 
32 



25U PAGES AND PICTURES. 

freedom of action, may at any moment, liy eonstitntional means, be rendered more 
or less available. Sncli were his views on tliese subjects — views adopted early in 
life, and to wliicli lie always adhered. Venice appeared to him altogether the 
most striking picture of an oligarchy wliicli Christendom has ever seen, and he 
endeavored to give the reader a sketch of the system as strong and as just as his 
pen could draw it. 

"Tlie Bravo" was written in Paris, after the author's return from Germany, and 
was published in America in the summer of 1831, by Messrs. Carey & Lea. In 
Eiu'ope the book was mucli liked, particularly in France and Germany ; the dis- 
tinctions it draws between a nominal repiiblic, and the higher principle of a free 
Christian government, were considered just ; while the power, the pathetic inci- 
dents of the narrative, the pure moral tone, and the beautiful poetical spirit 
pervading the whole work, were greatly admired. In America, on the contrary, 
the liook was pronounced a decided failure, and was very generally decried. The 
author was repeatedly accused by his countrymen of having closely copied the 
novel of Lewis, bearing the title of "The Bravo of Venice," and also of imitating 
a drama taken from that romance, and called "■ Abellino." These criticisms and 
accusations may be scarcely remembered to-day, but it will be well, perhaps, 
simjjly to assert the fact that before Mriting tliis tale of Venice, Mr. Cooper had 
never read a line of either work — the romance of Lewis, ov the drama referred to. 
"The Bravo" was as entirely original with him, in its general conception and in 
its details, as "The Prairie," or "The Pioneers." 

" The Bravo" is connected with one of the most audacious and most extraordi- 
nary attempts at a literary forgery to be found on record. Mr. Fenimore Cooper had 
lain but a few weeks in his grave, in the parish church-yard of the little village 
wdiich was his home, when there appeared in Paris, in a French periodical, a very 
flattering notice of his works, purporting to be written by an intimate personal 
friend, and ojienly bearing the signature of a literary man of some local reputa- 
tion. Allusion was made to the years passed by the American author in France, 
and the writer, declaring himself to have been on terms of the closest intimacy 
with him, deplored in his death the decease of a friend — one who for years had 
been a constant companion — one who was in the habit of going almost daily with 
him to this cafe and that theatre. But it was not only a friend whom the French 
litterateur had lost; he had also been deprived of a constant correspondent — one 
whose letters filled his portfolio ; a few of these letters he now lays before the 
pxiblic ; a volume of them should shortly be published. While travelling in Italy, 
these letters had been particularly interesting. At Venice, however, where Mr. 
Cooper wrote his celebrated romance of "The Bravo," the litterateur was so for- 



THE BRAVO. 251 

tuiiate as to have been his constant companion — having vis^ited with him tlie spot 
marked for the death of Antonio, tlie jailer's dwelling in which Gelsomina had 
lived, and the Piombi, where the wretched father of Jacopo had died. Remarks 
made hj Mr. Cooper on these occasions were given — extracts from several letters 
of his were printed. Would it have been thought possible that such an article, 
from the very first to the very last line, in so far as Mr. Fenimore Cooper was 
concerned, was a most daring fabrication ? It was falsehood throughout. Mr. 
Cooper had no French friend bearing the name of this writer. It is probable that 
he never wrote one line to that person. It is very doubtful if that individual 
ever crossed his threshold. The cafes alluded to Mr. Cooper never frequented ; 
rarely, indeed, did he go to a theatre. The only gentlemen who accompanied him 
to the prisons of Yenice chanced to be Americans ; he had, on those occasions, no 
European com})anion whatever. A brief denial of this most flagrant falsehood 
was published at the time, by the family of Mr. Cooper ; allusion to it in these 
pages was scarcely needed, excepting as showing the audacity to which similar 
attempts may be carried. 

The i-eader may remendjer the jailer's daughter, with the sweet Italian name 
of Gelsomina — one of the most delicately drawn of all the author's female 
characters — a creature to whom the imagination unconsciously gives one of those 
lovely Italian countenances painted by Eaphael. The name was a real one, and 
'possibly something in the general character niay have been drawn from life. 
AYhile the American family were living on the cliffs of Sorrento, a young 
peasant girl of the neighborhood became one crt the household — half nurse, half 
play -fellow to the children of the party. She bore the sweet name of Gelsomina. 
Simple and child-like, yet singularly faithful to duty, Gelsomina was soon in high 
favor with great and small, and, in charge of the young flock, made one of every 
family party in the little excursions about the bay. On these occasions she was 
always in gay costume: a light blue silken jacket, garnished with gold lace; a 
flowery chintz skirt ; her dark hair well garnished with long golden pins and 
bodkins ; while a gold chain of manifold strands encircled her throat, and drops 
long and heavy hung from her ears. It chanced one afternoon that, after playing 
_witli her young charge among the orange groves of the garden, Gelsomina went 
for a draught of water, to the well in the court — that picturesque marble well. 
There, while benduig over the curbstone, and drawing up the bucket, like Zara 
of Moorish fame, she dropped one of the long, heavy ear-rings into the water. 
Great was the lamentation of the simple creature ! "VTarm was the sympathy of 
the household ! Tlie ear-rings, like most of the jewelry of the Italian peasants, 
were as much an heii'-loom — a familv treasure — as the diamonds of a Duchess. 



252 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

But the well was very deep; the jewel was irretrievably lost. Gelsomina's tears, 
like those of Moorish Zara, fell on the marble cm-bstone in vain : 

" The well is deep — far down they lie, beneath tlie cold blue water 1 
My ear-rings I my ear-rings! oil ! luckless, luckless well !" 

The warm-hearted and faithful Gelsomina w^iuld gladly have followed her 
American friends to the northward ; but there was a portly aimt, stately and dig- 
nified as a Roman matron, who would not trust lier so far away from the orange 
groves of Sorrento. When the hour of parting came, she received from her mis- 
tress a fine pair of new car-rings, as a reward for her simple fidelity ; and tears of 
gratitude and of sorrow fell upon the trinkets, as she kissed the hand of the 
giver. Something of the simplicity, innocence, and fidelity of this young creature 
would seem to have been given, with her name, to the jailer's daughter, in "The 
Bravo." 





THE DEATH OF ANTONIO. 

" O pescator I dell' onda. 

Fi da lin : 
pescator I dell' onda. 

Fi da lin ; 
Vien pescar in qua, 
CoUa bella tua barca, 
Colla bella se ne va, 
Fi da liu, lin, la — " 

The moon was at its height. Its rays fell in a flood on the swelling domes and 
massive roofs of Venice ; while the margin of the town was brilliantly defined by the 
glittering bay. The natural and gorgeous setting was more than worthy of that 
picture of human magnificence ; for, at that moment, rich as was the Queen of the 
Adriatic in her works of art, the grandeur of her public monuments, the nimiber and 
splendor of her palaces, and most else that the ingenuity and ambition of man could 
attempt, she was but secondary in the glories of the hour. 

Above was the firmament, gemmed with worlds, and sublime in immensity. Be- 
neath lay the broad expanse of the Adriatic, endless to the eye, tranquU as the vault it 
reflected, and luminous with its borrowed Hght. Here and there a low island, reclaimed 
from the sea by the patient toil of a thousand years, dotted the lagvmes, burdened 
with the group of some conventual dwellings, or picturesque with the modest roofs of 
a hamlet of the fishermen. Neither oar, nor song, nor laugh, nor flap of sail, nor jest 
of mariner, disturbed the stillness. All in the near view was clothed in midnight love- 
Uness, and aU in the distance bespoke the solemnity of nature at peace. The city and 
the lagunes, the gulf and the dreamy Alps, the interminable plain of Lombardy, and 
the blue void of heaven, lay ahke, in a common and grand reposa 



254 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

There suddenly appeared a gondola. It issued from among ilie watery channels of 
the town, and glided upon the vast bosom of the bay, noiseless as the fancied progress of 
a spirit. A practised and nervous arm guided its movement, which was unceasing and 
rapid. So swift, indeed, was the passage of the boat, as to denote pressing haste on the 
part of the solitary individual it contained. It held the direction of the Adriatic, 
steering between one of the more southern outlets of the bay and the weU-known 
island of St. Giorgio. For half-an-hour the exertions of the gondolier were unrelaxed ; 
though his eye was often cast behind him, as if he distrusted pursuit ; and as often did 
lie gaze ahead, betraying an anxious desire to reach some object that was yet invisible. 
When a wide reach of water lay between him and the tf)^^■n, however, he permitted 
his oar to rest, and he lent all his faculties to a keen and anxious search. 

A small dark spot was discovered on the water still nearer to the sea. The oar of 
the gondolier dashed the element behind hhn, and his boat again glided away, 
so far altering its course as to show that all indecision was now ended. The darker 
spot was shortly beheld quivering in the rays of the moon, and it soon assumed the 
form and dimensions of a boat at anchor. Again the gondoUer ceased his efforts, and 
he leaned forward, gazing intently at this imdefined object, as if he would aid his 
j^owers of sight by the sympathy of his other faculties. Just then the notes of music 
came softly across the lagunes. The voice was feeble even to trembling, but it had 
the sweetness of tone and the accuracy of execution M'hich belong so peculiarly to 
Venice. It was the solitary man, in the distant boat, indulging in the song of a fisher- 
man. The strains were sweet, and the intonations plaintive to melancholy. The air 
was common to all who plied the oar in the canals, and familiar to the ear of the 
listener. He waited imtil the close of a verse had died away, and then he answered 
with a strain of his own. The alternate parts were thus maintained until the music 
ceased, by the two singing a finid verse in chorus. 

When the song was ended, the oar of the gondolier stii-red the water again, and he 
was quickly by the other's side. 

"Thou art busy with thy hook betimes, Antonio," said he who had just arrived, as 
he stepped into the boat of the old fisherman already so well known to the reader. 
" There are men that an interview with the Council of Three would have sent to their 
prayers and a sleepless bed." 

" There is not a chapel in Venice, Jacopo, in which a simier may so well lay bare 
his soul as m this. I have been here on the empty lagunes, alone with God, having 
the gates of Paradise open before my eyes." 

" One like thee hath no need of images to quicken his devotion." 

" I see the image of my Saviour, Jacojio, in those bright stars, that moon, the blue 
heavens, the misty bank of mountain, the waters on which we fioat — ay, even in my 
own sinking form — as in all which has come from his wisdom and power. I have prayed 
much since the moon has risen." 



THE DEATH OF ANTONIO. 255 

"Aud is habit so strong in thee, that thou thinkest of God and thy sins, wliilst thou 
anglest ?" 

" The pool- must toil, and tlie sinful must pray. My thoughts have dwelt so much 
of late on the boy, that I have forgotten to provide myself with food. If I fish later or 
earlier than common, 'tis because a man cannot live on grief." 

" I have bethought me of thy situation, honest Antonio ; here is that which will 
support life, aud raise thy courage. See," added the Bravo, stretching forth an arm 
into his own gondola, from which ho drew a basket, " here is bread i'rom Dahnatia, 
wine of Lower Italy, and figs from the Levant; eat, then, and be of cheer." 

The fisherman threw a wistful glance at the viands, for hunger was making power- 
ful appeals to the weakness of nature, but his hand did not relinquish its hold of the 
line, with which he still continued to angle. 

"And these are thy gifts, Jacopo?" he asked, in a voice that, spite of his resig- 
nation, betrayed the longings of a])petite. 

" Antonio, they are the offerings of one who resjiects thy courage, and honors thy 
nature." 

" Bought with his earnings ?" 

" Can it be otherwise '? I am no beggar, for the love of the saints, and few 
in Venice give unasked. Eat, then, without fear ; seldom wilt thou be more 
welcome." 

" Take them away, Jacopo, if thou lovest me. Do not tempt me beyond what I 
can bear." 

" How ! art thou commanded to a penance ?" hastily exclaimed the other. 

" Not so — not so. It is long since I have found leisure or heart for the confessional." 

"Then why refuse the gift of a friend? Remember thy years and necessities." 

" I cannot feed on the price of blood." 

The hand of the Bravo was withdrawn, as if repelled by an electric touch. The 
action caused the rays of the moon to fall athwart his kindling eye, and firm as Antonio 
was in honesty and principle, he felt the blood creep into his heart, as he encountered 
the fierce and sudden glance of liis companion. A long pause succeeded, during which 
the fisherman diligently plied his line, though utterly regardless of the object for which 
it had been cast. 

" I have said it, Jacopo," he added at length ; " and tongue of mine shall not belie 
the thought of my heart. Take away thy food, then, and forget all that is past; for 
what I have said hath not been said in scorn, but out of regard to my own soul. Thou 
knowest how I have sorrowed for the boy, but next to his loss I could mourn over 
thee — ay, more bitterly than over any other of the fallen !" 

The hard breathing of the Bravo was audible, but still he spoke not. 
" Jacopo," continued the anxious fisherman, " do not mistake me. The pity of the 
suffering and poor is not like the scorn of the rich and worldly. If I touch a sore, I do 



25t! PAGES AND PICTURES. 

not bruise it with my heel. Thy present pain is better than the greatest of all thy 
former joys." 

"Enough, old man," said the other, in a smothered voice; "thy words are for- 
gotten. Eat without fear, for the oifering is bought with earnings as pure as the glean- 
ings of a mendicant friar." 

" I will trust to the kindness of St. Anthony, and the fortune of my hook," simply 
returned Antonio. " 'Tis common for us of the lagunes to go to a supperless bed; take 
away the basket, good Jacopo, and let us speak of other things." 

The Bravo ceased to press his food upon the fisherman. Laying aside his basket 
he sat brooding over what had occurred. 

" Hast thou come thus far for naught else, good Jacopo ?" demanded the old man, 
willing to weaken the shock of his refusal. 

The question appeared to restore Jacopo to a recollection of his errand. He stood 
erect, and looked about him, for more than a minute, with a keen eye and an entire 
intentness of purpose. The look in the direction of the city was longer and more 
earnest than those thrown toward the sea and the main, nor was it withdrawn until 
an involuntary start betrayed equally surprise and alarm. 

" Is there not a boat here, in a Une with the tower of the campanile ?" he asked 
quickly, pointing toward the city. 

" It so seems. It is early for my comrades to be abroad, but the draughts have 
not been heavy of late, and the revelry of yesterday drew many of our people from 
their toil. The patricians must eat, and the poor must labor, or both would die." 

The Bravo slowly seated himself, and he looked with concern into the countenance 
of his companion. 

" Art thou long here, Antonio ?" 

" But .an hour. When they turned us away from the palace, thou knowest that 
I told thee of my necessities. There is not, in common, a more certain spot on the 
lagunes than this, and yet have I long plaj-ed the line in vain. The trial of hunger 
is hard, but, like all other trials, it must be borne. I have prayed to my patron thrice, 
and sooner or later he will listen to my wants. Thou art used to the manners of these 
masked nobles, Jacopo ; dost thou think tliem likely to hearken to reasoti ? I hope I 
did the cause no wrong for want of breeding, but I spoke them fair and ])lainly as 
fathers and men with hearts." 

"As senators they have none. Thou little understandest, Antonio, the distinctions 
of these patricians. In the gaiety of their palaces, and among the companions of their 
pleasures, none will speak you fairer of humanity and justice — aye, even of God ! but 
when met to discuss what they call the interests of St. Mark, there is not a rock on 
the coldest peak of yonder Alps with less humanity, or a wolf among their valleys more 
heartless !" 

" Thy words are strong, Jacopo — I \vould not do injustice even to those who have 



THE D K A T H UK ANTONIO. 257 

iloue nie this wrong. The senators are men, and Goil has given all feelings and nature 
aUke." 

" The gift is then abused. Thou hast I'elt the want of thy daily assistant, fisher- 
man, and thou hast sorrowed for thy child ; for thee it is easy to enter into another's 
griefs ; but the senators know nothing of suffering. Their children are not dragged 
to the galleys; their hopes are never destroyed by laws coming from hard task- 
masters ; nor are their tears slied for sons ruined by being made companions of the 
dregs of the republic. They will talk of public virtue and services to the state, but in 
their own cases they mean the virtue of renown, and services that bring with them 
honors and rewards. The wants of the state is tlieir conscience, though they take 
heed those wants shall do themselves no harm." 

" Jacopo, Providence itself hath made a diiference in men. One is large, another 
small ; one weak, another strong ; one wise, another tbolish. At what Providence hath 
done, we should not murmur !" 

"Providence did not make the senate; 'tis an invention of man. Mark me, 
Antonio, thy language liath given offence, and thou art not safe in Venice. They 
^vill pardon all but complaints against their justice. That is too true to be for- 
given." 

"Can they wish to harm one who seeks his own chDd?" 

" If thou wert great and respected, they would undermine thy fortune and charac- 
ter, ere thou should'st put their system in danger — as thou art weak and poor, they 
will do thee some direct injury, unless thou art moderate. Before all, I warn thee 
that their system must stand !" 

" Will God suffer this ?" 

" "VVe may not enter into his secrets," returned the Bravo, devoutly crossing him- 
self. " Did his reign end with this world, there might be injustice in suffering the 

wicked to triumph, but, as it is, we Yon boat approaches fast ! I Uttle like its 

air and movements." 

" They are not fishermen, truly, for there are many oars and a canopy !" 

" It is a gondola of the state !" exclaimed Jacopo, rising and stepping into his own 
boat, which he cast loose from that of his companion, when he stood in evident doubt 
as to his future proceedings. " Antonio, we shovild do well to row away." 

" Thy fears are natural," said the unmoved fisherman, " and 'tis a thousand pities 
.that there is cause for them. There is yet time for one skilful as thou to outstrip the 
fleetest gondola on the canals." 

" Quick, lift thy anchor, old man, and depart— my eye is sure — I know the boat." 

" Poor Jacojio ! what a curse is a tender conscience ! Thou hast been kind to me 
in my need, and if jjrayers, from a sincere heart, can do thee service, thou shalt not 
want them." 

" Antonio !" cried the other, causing his boat to whirl away, and then pausing an 
33 



258 PAGES AND PICTURKS. 

instant like a mau undecided — "I can stay no longer — trust them not — they are false 
as fiends — there is no time to lose — I must away." 

The fisherman murmured an ejaculation of pity, as he waved a hand in adieu. 

" Holy St. Anthony watch o\er my own child, lest he come to some such miserable 
Ufe !" he added, in an audible prayer. " There hath been good seed cast on a rock 
in that youth, for a warmer or kinder heart is not in man. That one like Jacopo 
should live by striking the assassin's blow !" 

The near approach of the strange gondola now attracted the «hole attention of the 
old man. It came swiftly toward him, impelled by six strong oars, and his eye turned 
feverishly in the direction of the fugitive. Jacopo, with a readiness that necessity and 
long practice rendered nearly instinctive, had taken a direction which blended his 
wake in a line with one of those bright streaks that the moon drew on the water, 
and which, by dazzling the eye, effectually concealed the objects within its width. 
When the fisherman saw that the Bravo had disappeared, he smiled, and seemed 
at ease. 

" Aye, let them come here," he said ; " it will give Jacopo more time. I doubt 
not the poor fellow hath struck a blow, since quitting the palace, that the council will 
not forgive ! The sight of gold hath been too strong, and he hath offended those who 
have so long borne with him. God forgive me, that I have had communion with such 
a man ! but when the heart is heavy, the pity of even a dog will warm our feelings. 
Few care for me, now, or the friendship of such as he could never have been 
welcome." 

Antonio ceased, for the gondola of the state came with a rushing noise to the side 
of his own boat, where it was suddenly stopped by a backward sweep of the oars. 
The water was still in ebullition, when a form passing into the gondola of the fisher- 
man, the l.irger boat shot away again, to the distance of a few hundred feet, and re- 
mained at rest. 

Antonio witnessed this movement in silent curiosity ; but when he saw the gon- 
doliers of the state lying on their oars, he glanced his eye again flirtively in the direc- 
tion of Jacopo, saw that all was safe, and faced his companion with confidence. The 
brightness of the moon enabled hun to distinguish the dress and aspect of a bare, 
footed Carmelite. The latter seemed more confounded than his companion, by the 
rapidity of the movement, and the novelty of his situation. Notwithstanding his con- 
fusion, however, an evident look of wonder crossed his mortified features when he first 
beheld the humble condition, the thin and whitened locks, and the general air and 
bearing of the old man with whom he now found himself. 

" Who art thou ?" escaped him, in the impulse of surprise. 

" Antonio of tlie Lagunes ! A fisherman that owes much to St. Anthony, for 
favors little deserved." 

"And why hath one like thee fallen beneath the senate's dis]>leasure?'' 



THE DEATH OF ANTOXIO. 259 

" I am honest, and ready to do justice to others. If that offend the great, they are 
men more to be jjitied than envied." 

" The eon'N'icted are always more disposed to believe themselves unfortunate than 
guilty. The error is fatal, and it should be eradicated from the min d, lest it lead to 
death." 

" Go tell this to the patricians. They have need of plain counsel, and a warning 
from the church." 

" My son, there is pride, and anger, and a perverse heart in thy replies. The sins 
of the senators — and as they are men, they are not without spot — can in no manner 
■whiten thine own. Though an unjust sentence should condemn one to pimishment, it 
leaves the offences against God in their native deformity. Men may pity him who hath 
wrongfully undergone the anger of the world, but the church ■will only pronounce 
pardon on him who eonfesseth his errors, with a sincere admission of their magnitude." 

" Have you come, father, to shrive a penitent ?" 

" Such is my errand. I lament the occasion, and if what I fear be true, still more 
must I regret that one so aged sliould have brought his devoted head beneath the 
■arm of justice." 

Antonio smiled, and again he bent his eyes along that dazzling streak of light, 
■which had swallowed up the gondola and the person of the Bravo. 

" Father," he said, when a long and earnest look was ended, " there can be little 
harm in speaking truth to one of thy holy office. They have told thee there was a 
criminal here in the lagunes, who hath provoked the anger of St. Mark?" 

" Thou art right." 

"It is not easy to know when St. Mark is pleased, or when he is not," continued 
Antonio, plying his line with mdifference, " for the very man he now seeks has he long 
tolerated ; aye, even in presence of the doge. The senate hath its reasons, which lie 
beyond the reach of the ignorant, but it would have been better for the soul of the 
poor youth, and more seemly for the republic, had it turned a discouraging countenance 
on his deeds from the first." 

"Tliou speakest of another! — thou art not, then, the cruninal they seek?" 

" I am a sinner, like all born of woman, reverend Carmelite, but my hand hath never 
held any other weapon than the good sword with which I struck the infidel. There 
was one lately here that, I grieve to add, cannot say this !" 

" And he is gone ?" 

" Father, you have your eyes, and you can answer that question for yourself. He 
is gone ; though he is not far ; stUl is he beyond the reach of the swiftest gondola in 
Venice, praised be St. Mark !" 

The Carmelite bowed his head, where he was seated, and his lips moved, either in 
prayer or in thanksgiving. 

" Are you sorry, monk, that a sinner has escaped ?" 



2G0 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

"Son, I rejoice that this bitter office hatli passed- from me, while I mom'u that there 
should be a spirit so depraved as to require it. Let us summon tlie servants of the 
republic, and inform them that their errand is useless." 

" Be not of haste, good father. The night is gentle, and these hirelings sleep on 
their oars, like gulls on the lagunes. Tlie youtli will have more time for repentance, 
sliould he be undisturbed." 

The Carmelite, who had arisen, instantly reseated himself, like one actuated by a 
strong impulse. 

"I thought he had already been for beyond pursuit," he muttered, unconsciously 
apologizing for his apparent haste. 

"He is over bold, and I fear lie will row back to the canals, in wliich case you 
might meet nearer to the city — or there may be more gondolas of the state out — in 
short, father, thou wilt be more certain to escape hearing the confession of a Bravo, by 
listening to that of a fisherman who has long wanted an occasion to acknowledge his sins." 

Men who ardently w'ish the same result, require few words to understand each 
otlier. The Carmelite took, intuitively, the meaning of his companion, and throwing 
back his cowl, a movement that exposed the countenance of Father Anselmo, he pre- 
pared to listen to the confession of tlie old man. 

" Thou art a Christian ; and one of thy years hath not to learn the state of mind 
tliut becometh a penitent," said the monk, when each was ready. 

" I am a sinner, father ; give me coimsel and absolution, that I may have hope." 

"Thy wiU be done — thy prayer is heard; approach and kneel." 

Antonio, who had fastened his line to his seat, and disposed of his net with habitual 
care, now crossed himself devoutly, and took his station before the Carmelite. His 
acknowledgments of error then began. Much mental misery elotlied the language and 
ideas of the fisherman with a dignity that his auditor had not been accustomed to find 
in men of his class. A spirit so long chastened by sufterhig had become elevated and 
noble. He related his hopes for the boy; the manner in which they had been blasted 
l)y the unjust and selfish policy of the state ; of his difl:erent eiforts to procure the 
release of his grandson ; and his bold expedients at the regatta and the fancied nuptials 
with the Adriatic. When he had thus prepared the Carmelite to understand the 
origin of his sinful passions, which it was now his duty to expose, he spoke of those 
passions themselves, and of their influence on a mind that was ordinarily at peace with 
mankind. The tale was told simply, and without reserve, but in a manner to inspire 
respect, and to awaken powerful sympathy in him wlio heard it. 

"And these feelings thou didst indulge against the honored and pow-erful of 
Venice ?" demanded the monk, afiecting a severity he could not feel. 

"Before my God do I confess the sin! In bitterness of heart I cursed them; for 
to me they seemed men without feeUng for the poor, and heartless as the mai-bles of 
their own palaces." 



T H E I) K A T II OF ANTONIO. 261 

"Thon knowest tliat, to be forgiven, thou must forgive. Dost tliou, at peace witli 
all of earth, forget this wrong ; and canst thou, in charity with th}- fellows, j)ray to Him 
who died for the race, in behalf of those who have injured thee ?" 

Antonio bowed his head on his naked breast, and he seemed to commune with his 
soul. 

" Father," he said, in a rebuked tone, " I hope I do." 

" Thou must not trifle with thyself to thine oaati perdition. There is an eye in yon 
vault above us wliich pervades space, and which looks into the irmiost secrets of the 
heart. Canst thou jiardon the error of tlie patricians, in a contrite s])irit for thine own 
sins ?" 

"Holy Maria, ])ray for them, as I now ask mercy in their behalf! Father, they 
are forgiven." 

" Amen !" 

The Carmehte arose and stood over the kneeUng Antonio, with the whole of liis 
benevolent countenance illuminated by the moon. Stretching his arms toward the 
stars, he pronounced the absolution, in a voice that was touched with pious fervor. 
The upward, expectant eye, with the withered lineaments of the fisherman, and the 
holy calm of the monk, formed a picture of resignation and hope, that angels would 
have loved to ^vitness. 

"Amen! amen!" exclaimed Antonio, as he arose, crossing himself; "St. Anthony 
and the Virgin aid me to keep these resolutions !" 

"I will not forget thee, my son, in the offices of the holy clHirch. Receive my bene- 
diction, that I may depart." 

Antonio again bowed liis knee, while the Carmehte firmly pronounced the words of 
peace. When this last office was performed, and a decent interval of mutual but silent 
prayer had passed, a signal was given to summon the gondola of the state. It came 
rowing down with great force, and was instantly at their side. Two men passed into 
the boat of Antonio, and ^^■ith officious zeal assisted the monk to resume his place in 
that of the republic. 

" Is the jienitent shrived ?" half whispered one, seemingly the superior of tlie two. 

" Here is an error. He thou seekest has escaped. This aged man is a fisherman 
named .iVntonio, and one who cannot have gravely ofiended St. Mark. The Bravo 
hath passed toward the island of San Giorgio, and must be sought elsewhere." 

The officer released the person of the monk, who passed quickly beneath the canopy, 
and he turned to cast a hasty glance at the features of the fisherman. The rubbing of 
a rope was audible, and the anchor of Antonio was lifted by a sudden jerk. A heavy 
plashing of the water followed, and the two boats shot away together, obedient to a 
violent efibrt of the crew. The gondola of the state exhibited its usual number of gon- 
doliers bending to their toil, with its dark and hearse-like canopy, but that of the 
fisherman was empty ! 



262 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

The sweep of the oars and the plunge of the body of Antonio liad been blended in 
a common wash of tlie surge. When the fisherman came to the surface, after his fall, 
he was alone iu the centre of the vast but tranquil sheet of water. There might have 
been a glimmering of hope, as he arose from the darkness of the sea to the bright 
beauty of that moon-lit night. But the sleeping domes were too far for human strength, 
and the gondolas were sweeping madly toward the t(jwn. He turned, and swimming 
feebly, for hunger and previous exertion had undermined his strength, he bent his eye 
on the dark sj)ot which he had constantly recognized as the boat of the Bravo. 

Jacopo had not ceased to watch the uiterview with the utmost intentness of his 
foculties. Favored by position, he could see without being distinctly visible. He saw 
the CarnieUte pronouncing the absolution, and he witnessed the approach of the larger 
boat. He heard a plunge heavier than that of fallLng oars, and he saw tlio gondola of 
Antonio towing away empty. The crew of the republic had scarcely swept the lagunes 
with their oar-blades before his own stirred the water. 

" Jacopo ! — Jacopo !" came fearfully and faintly to his ears. 

The voice was known and the occasion thoroughly understood. The cry of distress 
was succeeded by the rush of the water, as it ])iled before the beak of the Bravo's 
gondola. The sound of the parted element was like the sighing of a breeze. Ripples 
and bubbles were left behind, as the driven scud floats past the stars, and all those 
muscles which had once before that day been so finely developed in the race of the 
gondoliers, were now expanded, seemingly in twofold volumes. Energy and skill were 
in every stroke, and the dark spot came down the streak of light like the swallow 
touching the water with its wing. 

" Hither, Jacopo — thou steerest wide !" 

The beak of the gondola turned, and the glaring eye of the Bravo caught a glimpse 
of the fisherman's head. 

" Quickly, good Jacopo— I fail !" 

The murmuring of the water again drowned the stifled words. The efibrts of the 
oar were frenzied, and at each stroke the light gondola appeared to rise from its 
element. 

" Jacopo — hither — dear Jacopo !" 

" The mother of God aid thee, fisherman ! — I come." 

" Jacopo — the boy ! — the boy !" 

The water gurgled ; an arm was visible in the air, and it disappeared. The 
gondola drove upon the spot where the limb had just been visible, and a backwai-d 
stroke, that caused the ashen blade to bend like a reed, laid the trembling boat motion- 
less. The furious action threw the lagune into ebullition, but, when the foam sub- 
sided, it lay calm as the blue and peaceful vault it reflected. 

" Antonio !" burst from the lips of the Bravo. 

A frightful silence succeeded the call. There was neither answer nor liuman form. 



THE DEATH OF ANTONIO. 



263 



Jacopo compressed the handle of his oar with fingers of iron, and his own breathing 
caused him to start. On every side he bent a frenzied eye, and on every side he 
beheld the profound repose of that treacherous element which is so terrible in its 
wrath. Like the human heart, it seemed to s}Tnpathize with the tranquil beauty of the 
midnight view ; but, like the human heart, it kept its own fearful secrets. 




-}^^^I^^^h' 




XII. 



THE HEADSMAN. 



A SECOND excursion to Switzerland was made by the American antlior in the 
summer of 1832. The shores of tlie Lake of Geneva Avere on this occasion the 
selected goal : 

"There lay the Leman, T)road, blue, and tranquil, with its surface dotted by 
sails, or overshadowed by grand mountains ; its shores varying from the impend- 
ing precipice to the sloping and verdant lawn ; the solemn, mysterious, and 
glen-like valley of the Rhone ; the castles, towns, villages, hamlets, and towers, 
with all the smiling acclivities l<iadc<l with vines, villas, and churches; the 
remoter pastures, out of which rose the brown chdhts like subdued bas-relirfs, and 
the background of Denis, peaks, and glaciers. Taking it all together, it is one 
of tlic most ravishing views of an earth that is only too lovely for its evil-minded 
tenants — a world that bears about it, in every lineament, the impression of its 
divine Creator ! 

" One of our friends used to tell an anecdote of the black servant of a visitor 
to Niagara, Avho could express his delight, on seeing the falls, in no other way 
than by peals of laughter; and — perhaps I uught to hesitate to confess it — I 
actually imitated the negro, as this glorious view broke suddenly upon me. Mine, 
however, was a laugh of triumph, for I discovered that it was still possible to 
awaken enthusiasm within me, by the sight of an admirable nature. Our first 
res(_ilutii>n was in pass a month in this beautiful region. Pointing to a building 
that stood a thousand feet beloM' us, on a little grassy knoll, washed liy the ]ak<>. 



THE H K A D S M A N . 265 

and which had the quaint appearance of a tiny chateau of the middle ages, we 
claimed it at once as the very spot suited for the temporary residence of your 
scenery-hunters. Xotliing could possibly suit us better ; and we went down the 
descent amid vineyards and cottages, not building ' castles in the air,' but 
peopling one in a vallej'. Tliat was to be the house, if it coxild be had for love 
or money — or if the thing, in other words, were practicable." 

Unfortunately, the little chateau had degenerated into a mere coarse farm- 
house, scarcely habitable. " Finally, we were compelled to tahe refuge in a 
furnished house, Mon Repos, which stands quite near the lake, and in a retired 
corner of the place ; and in less than twenty-four hours after entering Vevey, we 
had set up our household gods, and were to be reckoned among those who boiled 
their pot in the commime. One of the first measures, after taking possession of 
Mon Repos, was to secure a l)oat. This was soon done. Harbor, strictly speak- 
ing, Vevey has none, though it has tlie beginning of a mole, scarcely serving to 
shelter a skiif. The crafts in use on the lake are large, two-masted boats, having 
decks much broader than their true beam, and which carry most of their freight 
above-board. The sails are strictly neither latine nor lug, but sufficiently like 
the former to be picturesque, especially in the distance. These vessels are not 
required to make good weather, as they invariably run for the land when it 
"blows, unless the wind happen to be fair, and sometimes even then. Nothing 
' can be more primitive than the outfit of one of these barks, and yet they appear 
to meet tlie wants of the lake. * * * It is not easy to imagine a more charm- 
ing acclivity than that which lies behind the town ; the inclination is by no 
means so great as it is east or west, and admits of cultivation, and sites for 
hamlets, broken by inequalities and spacious natural terraces. I should think 
there is quite a league of this inclined plain in view from the town ; it is covered 
with hamlets, chateaux, country houses, cliurches, and cottages, and in addition to 
its vineyards, of which there are many, it is highly beautiful from the verdure 
of its slopes, its orchards, and its groves of nut-trees. - * * We never tire of 
the Leman, but spend two or three hours every day in the boat. Sometimes 
we row in front of the town — which literally stands in the water in some places — 
musing on the quaint old walls, and listening to the lore of honest Jean Desclotix, 
who moves two crooked oars as leisurely as a lady of the tropics utters words, 
but wlio has seen great events in his time. Sometimes even this lazy action is 
too much for the humor of the moment, and we are satisfied with drifting along 
the shore, for there is generally current enougli to carry us the whole length of 
Vevej^ in half-an-hour. Occasionally we are tossed about like an egg-shell, the 
winds at a distance soon throwing tliis part of the sheet into commotion. Per- 
34 



2G6 PAGES AJSri) PICTURES. 

hajis the greatest charm in the scenery of Vevey is the coast of Savoy ; imme- 
diately opposite tlie town is a range of magnificent rocks, rising some four or five 
thousand feet above the surface of tlie water. In general these precipices are 
nearly perpendicular, thougli their surfaces are broken by liuge ravines that may 
well be termed valleys. This is the region that impends over Meillerie, St. 
Gingoulph, and Evian — towns or hamlets that cling to the bases of the mountains, 
and form, of themselves, beautiful objects, from this side of the lake. Tlie dis- 
tance from Vevey to the opposite shore, agreeably to the authority of old John, 
our boatman, is about five miles, though the great purity of the atmosphere, and 
the height of the land, make it appear less. The summit of the rocks of Savoy 
are broken into the most fantastical forms, beautifully and clearly drawn, while 
they are quite irregular and witliout design. No deseri]>tion can give you an 
accurate idea of their Ijoauty, for I know nothing else in nature to compare them 
to. As they lie nearly south of us, I cannot account for the nnusual glow of the 
atmosphere lieyond them, at every clear sunset, except from the reflection of the 
glaciers ; Mont Blanc lying in that direction, at the distance of about fifty miles, 
thongli invisible. Tlie effect of the outline of these rocks at, or after, sunset, 
relieved by a soft, golden sky, is not only one of the finest sights in Switzerland, 
but, in its way, it is just the most perfect spectacle I have ever beheld. It is not 
so apt to extort sudden admiration as the rosy tints and spectral hues of the High 
Alps at the same hour ; l)ut it wins on you, in the way the lovely shadows of the 
Apennines grow on tlie aftections, and so far from tiring or becoming satisfied 
with their view, each successive evening would seem to bring greater delight than 
the last. You may get some idea of what I mean by imagining vast i:)iles, outlined 
and drawn in a way that no art can eqnal, standing out huge, and dark, and 
grand, in high relief, blending sublimity AV'ith a bewitching softness, against a 
sky whose light is slowly passing from the glow of fiery gold to the mildest tints 
of evening. I scarcely know when this scene is most to be admired ; when the 
rocks appear distinct and brown, showing their material, and the sky is burnished, 
or when the first are merely dark masses, on whose surface nothing is visible, and 
the V(,)id beyond is just pregnant with sufficient light to reveal their exquisite 
forms. Perhaps tliis is tlie perfection of the scene, for the gloom of the hour 
throws a noble mystery over all. 'So dilettanti were ever more punctual at the 
opening of the orchestra than we are punctual at this exhibition, which, very 
much like a fine and expressive liarmony, grows npon ns at each repetition. All 
this end of the lake — as we float lazily before the town, witli the water like a 
mirror, the acclivity behind the town gradually darkening upward under the 
retiring light, the remote Alpine pastures just throwing out their chalets, the 



THK HKADSMAN. 267 

rocks of Savoy, the sublime and mysterious glen of the Rhone, with the glacier 
of Mont Velan in its depths, raising a white peak into the broad day long after 
evening has shadowed every object below — foi'ms the must perfect natural picture 
I have ever beheld. You may easily imagine liow greatly we enjoy all this. 
Jean and his boat have been put hi requisition nearly every evening since our 
arrival, and the old fellow has dropped so readily into our humors, that his oars 
rise and fall in a way to produce a melancholy ripple, and little else. The sym- 
pathy between us is perfect, and I have almost fancied that his oars are growing 
daily more crooked and picturesque." 

Gleaning, as all reading travellers do, many lesser historical details, which 
give something of a peculiar coloring to the annals of every town on old Europe's 
soil, Mr. Cooper's fancy was pleased with the account of a holiday festival, cele- 
brated at Yevey in past ages, and still kept up, at intervals, by the good people 
of the borougii. This is called the Ahhaye des Yignerons — the great holiday of 
the vine-dressers — a gay and motley scene, partaking largely of the carnival spirit ; 
blended, however, with something of the better feeling of the harvest-home. There 
were shepherds and shepherdesses, gaily costumed and garlanded, trooping onwai-d 
with rustic dance and song — the last echoing many a wild sound heard amid 
Alpine pastures ; there were your aproned gardeners, armed with rake and spade — 
their sweethearts bearing on the head baskets filled with fruits and flowers — all 
imiting in a dance, a la roncle, as they reached the principal })oint of the proces- 
sion, singing, meanwhile, songs of their own ; there were reapers, mowers, and 
gleaners, all in quaint and picturesque array, moving onward to rustic chant 
and pipe; there were your herdsmen and dairymaids, in Alpine costume, with 
blended garlands, from mount and meadow, timing their steps to horn and cow- 
bell — singing in chorus the heart-stirring Ram des Vuches, whose wild notes 
wore first breathed amid Alpine echoes : 

■' Le zermailli de Colombette •' The cowherds of the Alps 

De bon matin, se san leha — At an early hour arose. 

Ha, ah ! Ha, ah ! Ha, aii '. Ha, ah ! 

Liauba I Liauba ! Liauba I Liauba ! 

For taria I In order to milk. 

" Venide tote ■' Come all of you. 

Bllantz et naire Black and white, 

Kodz et motaile Red and dappled, 

Dzjouvan et etro Old and young ; 

Dezo ou tzetiano Under lliis oak 

lo vo tario I will milk you; 

Dezo ou triembln Under this poplar 

To ie triudzo, Let me press you. 

Liauba I Liauba! Liauba! Liauba! 

For taria !" In order to milk '" 



268 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



The concluding scene of the procession was always a rustic wedding ; the bride 
being dowered — as was usual at many a great festival of olden time — by the lord 
and lady of the manor : the w-edding-train, bride and groom, parents and friends, 
lord and lady, the wedding-gifts, the wardrobe and household gear — aye, the 
very broom and spindle, -with a mimic cottage, all figuring in the long and quaint 
array. 

This picturesque local festival the American auth<;)r determined to introduce 
into a tale, whose scenes should be laid on the Lake of Geneva and the Pass of 
St. Bernard. The chief incident of the plot was taken from one of those oppres- 
sive laws of feudal times, which, from their inherent injustice, he held in abhor- 
rence ; in the canton of Berne, before the changes of the last century, the odious 
office of executioner, or headsman, was rendered obligatory upon one family, to 
be inherited, like a curse — niit natural, but arbitrary — nut for three or four genera- 
tions only, but so long as that family should exist. Upon this fact the whole 
plot of the Swiss tale turns ; the efforts of the hapless father and mother to save 
their innocent son from the life of ignominy impending over him by law, inter- 
woven with other incidents connected with the holiday festival of the Abbaye des 
Vignerons, make up the pathetic and picturesque interest of the book. The 
opening pages of the narrative are given, the account of the festival itself being 
too long for insertion. 





THE HEADSMAN. 



The year was in its fall, according to a poetical expression of our own, and the 
morning bright, as the fairest and swiftest bark that navigated the Leman lay at the 
quay of the ancient and historical town of Geneva, ready to depart for the country of 
Vaud. This vessel was called the Winkolried, in commemoration of ^Vrnold of that 
name, who had so generously sacrificed life and hopes to the good of his country, and 
who deservedly ranks among the truest of those heroes of whom we liave well-authen- 
ticated legends. She had been launched at the commencement of the summer, and 
still bore at the fore-top-mast-head a bunch of evergreens, profusely ornamented with 
knots and streamers of riband, the offerings of the patron's female friends, and 
the fancied gage of success. The use of steam, and the presence of unemployed 
seamen of various nations, in this idle season of the warlike, are slowly leading to inno- 
vations and improvements in the navigation of the lakes of Italy and Switzerland, it is 
true ; but time, even at this hour, has done little toward changing the habits and 
opinions of those who ply on these inland waters for a subsistence. The Winkelried 
had the two low, diverging masts ; the attenuated and picturesquely poised latine 
yards; the light, triangular sails ; the sweeping and projecting gangways ; the receding 
and falling stern ; the high and peaked prow — with, in general, the classical and quaint 
air of those vessels that are seen in the older paintings and engravings. A gilded ball 
glittered on the summit of each mast — for no canvas was set higher than the slender 
and well-balanced yards — and it was above one of these that the wilted bush, with its 
gay appendages, trembled and fluttered in a fresh western wind. The hull was worthy 
of so much goodly apparel, being spacious, commodious, and, according to the wants 
of the navigation, of approved mould. The freight, which was sufficiently obvious — 
much the greatest part being piled on the ample deck — consisted of what our own 



270 P A G K S AND PICTURES. 

wateniieii would term an assorted cargo. It A\'as, however, cliiefly composed of those 
foreign hixuries — as they were then called, though use has now rendered tlieni nearly 
indisjiensable to domestic economy — which were consumed, in singular moderation, by 
the more affluent of those Avho dwelt deeper among the mountains ; and of the two 
principal products of the dairy ; the hitter being destined to a market Lu the less 
verdant countries of the south. To these must be added the personal effects of an un- 
usual number of jiassengers, which were stowed on the top of the heavier part of the 
cargo, with an order and care that their value would scarcely seem to require. The 
arrangement, however, was necessary to the convenience, and even to the security of 
the bark, lu^ving been made by the jiatron with a "sdew to posting each individual by 
his particular wallet, in a manner t<i prevent confusion in the crowd, and to leave the 
crew sjiace and oppoi-tunity to discharge the necessary duties of the navigation. 

With a vessel stowed, sails ready to drop, the wind fair, and the day drawing on 
apace, the patron of the Winkelried, wlio was also her owner, felt a very natural wish 
to depart. But an unlooked-for obstacle had just presented itself at the water-gate, 
where the officer charged with the duty of looking into the cliaracters of aU who went 
and came, was posted, and around whom some fifty representatives of half as many 
nations were now clustered in a clamorous throng, filling the air with a confusion of 
tongues that had some probable affinity to the noises which deranged the workmen of 
Babel. It apjieared, by 2>arts of sentences, and broken remonstrances, ecjually ad- 
dressed to the patron, whose name was Baptiste, and to the guardian of the Genevese 
laws, a rumor was rife among these truculent travellers, that Balthazar, the headsman, 
or executioner, of the j^owerful and aristocratical canton of Berne, was about to be 
smuggled into their company by the cupidity of the former, contrary, not only to what 
was due to the feelings and rights of men of more creditable callings, but, as it was 
vehemently and plausibly insisted, to the very safety of those who were about to trust 
their fortunes to the vicissitudes of the elements. 

Chance, and the ingenuity of Baptiste, had collected, on this occasion, as parti- 
colored and heterogeneous an assemblage of human passions, interests, dialects, wishes, 
and oj)inions, as any admirer of diversity of character could desire. There were 
several small traders, some returning from adventures in Germany and France, and 
some lionnd southward, with their scanty stock of wares; a few poor scholars, bent on 
a literary jiilgrimage to Rome ; an artist or two, better provided with enthusiasm than 
with either knowledge or taste, journeying with poetical longings toward skies and 
tints of Italy ; a troupe of street jugglers, who had been turning their Neapolitan buf- 
foonery to account among the duller and less sophisticated inhabitants of Swabia; 
divers lacqueys out of place ; some six or eight capitalists who lived on their wits, and 
a nameless herd of that set -« hich the French call bad " subjects ;" a title that is just 
now, oddly enough, disputed between the dregs of society and a class that would fain 
become its exclusive leaders and lords. 



THE H E A 1.' S il A N . 271 

These, with some slight quahtications that it is not yet necessary to particularize, 
composed that essential requisite of all fair representation — the majority. Those who 
remained were of a different caste. Near the noisy crowd of tossing heads and bran- 
dished arms in and around the gate, was a party containing the venerable and still fine 
figure of a man m the travelling dress of one of superior condition, and who did not 
need the testimony of the two or three liveried menials that stood near his person, to 
give an assurance of his belonging to the more fortunate of his fellow-creatures, as good 
and evil are usually estimated in calculating the chances of life. On his arm leaned a 
female, so young, and yet so lovely, as to cause regret in all who observed her fading 
color, the sweet but melancholy smile that occasionally lighted her mild and pleasing 
features at some of the more marked exuberances of folly among the crowd, and a form 
which, notwithstanding her lessened bloom, was nearly perfect. If these symptoms 
of delicate health did not prevent this fliir girl from being amused at the volubility and 
arguments of the different orators, she oftener manifested apprehension at finding 
herself the companion of creatures so untrained, so violent, so exacting, and so grossly 
ignorant. A yoimg man, wearing the roquelaure, and other similar appendages, of a 
Swiss in foreign military service, a character to excite neither observation nor comment 
in that age, stood at her elbow, answering the questions that from time to time were 
addressed to him by the others, in a manner to show he was an intimate acquaint- 
ance, though there were signs about liis travelling equipage to prove he was not 
exactly of their ordinary society. Of all who were not immediately engaged in the 
boisterous discussion at the gate, this young soldier, Avho was commonly addressed 
by those near him as Monsieur Sigisraund, was much the most interested in its 
progress. Though of herculean frame, and evidently of unusual physical force, he was 
singularly agitated. His cheek, which had not yet lost the freshness due to the moun- 
tain air, would, at times, become pale as that of the wilting flower near him ; whUe at 
others, the blood rushed across his brow in a torrent that seemed to threaten a rupture 
of the starting vessels in which it so tumultuously flowed. Unless addressed, however, 
he said nothing; his distress gradually subsiding, until it was merely betrayed by the 
convulsive writhings of his fingers, which unconsciously grasped the hilt of his sword. 

The xiproar had now continued for some time : throats were getting sore, tongues 
clammy, voices hoarse, and words incoherent, when a sudden check was given to the 
useless clamor by an incident quite in unison with the disturbance itself. Two 
enormous dogs were in attendance hard by, apparently awaiting the movements of 
their respective masters, who were lost to view in the mass of heads and bodies that 
stopped the passage of the gate. One of these animals was covered with a short, 
thick coating of hair, whose prevailing color was a dingy yellow, but whose throat and 
legs, with most of the inferior parts of the body, were of a dull white. Nature, on 
the other hand, had given a dusky, brownish, shaggy dress to his rival, though his 
general hue was relieved by a few shades of a more decided black. As respects 



272 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

weight nnd force of body, the difference between the brutes was not very obvious ; 
though perhaps it slightly inclined in tavor of the former, who in length, if not in 
strength, of limb, however, had more manifestly the advantage. 

It would much exceed the intelligence we have brought to this task to explain 
how far the instincts of the dogs sympathized in the savage passions of the human 
beings around them, or whether they were conscious that their masters had espoused 
opposite sides in the quarrel, and that it became them, as faithful esquires, to tilt 
together by way of supporting the honor of those they followed ; but, after measur- 
ing each other for the usual jJcriod with the eye, they came violently together, body 
to body, in the manner of their species. The collision was fearful, and the struggle, 
being between two creatures of so great size and strength, of the fiercest kind. The 
roar resembled that of lions, effectually drownhig the clamor of human voices. Every 
tongue was mute, and each head was turned in the direction of the combatants. The 
treml)ling girl recoiled with averted face, while the young man stepped eagerly 
forward to protect her, for the conflict was near the place they occupied ; but power- 
ful and active as was his frame, he hesitated about mingling in an affray so ferocious. 
At this critical moment, when it seemed that the furious brutes were on the point of 
tearing each other in pieces, the crowd was pushed violently open, and two men burst, 
side by side, out of the mass. One wore the black robes, the conical, Asiatic-looking, 
tufted cap, and the white belt of an Augustine monk ; and the other had the attire of 
a man addicted to the seas, without, however, being so decidedly maritiine as to leave 
his character a matter that was quite beyond dispute. The former was fair, ruddy, 
with an oval, happy fiiee, of which internal jieace and good-will to his fellows were the 
principal characteristics ; while the latter had the swarthy hue, bold lineaments, and 
glittering eye of an Italian. 

" Uberto !" said the monk, reproachfully, affecting the sort of offended manner that 
one would be a]it to show to a more intelligent creature, willing, but at the same time 
afraid, to trust his person nearer to the furious conflict; "shame on thee, old Uberto ! 
Hast forgotten thy schooling — hast no respect for thine own good name ?" 

On the other hand, the Italian did not stop to expostulate ; but throwing himself 
with reckless hardihood on the dogs, by dint of kicks and blows, of which much the 
heaviest portion fell on the follower of the Augustine, he succeeded in separating the 
combatants. 

''Ha, Nettuno!" he exclaimed, with the severity of one accustomed to exercise a 
stern and absolute authority, so soon as this daring exploit was achieved, and he had 
recovered a little of the breath lost in the violent exertion — " what dost mean? Canst 
find no better amusement than quarrelling with a dog of San Bernardo ! Fie upon 
thee, foolish Nettuno ! I am ashamed of thee, dog: thou, that hast discreetly navigated 
so many seas, to lose thy temper on a bit of fresh water !" 

The dog, which was, in truth, no other than a noble animal of the well-known New- 



THE HEADSMAN. 



273 



ibuiiillaud breed, hung his head, and made signs of contrition, by drawing nearer to 
his master, with a tail that swept the ground ; wliile his late adversary quietly seated 
himself with a species of monastic dignity, looking from the sjieaker to his foe, as if 
endeavormg to comprehend the rebuke which his powerful and gallant antagonist took 
so meekly. 

" Father," said the Italian, " our dogs are both too useful, m their several ways, and 
both of too good charicter to be enemies. I know Uljerto of old, for the paths of St. 
Bernard and I are no strangers, and, if report does the animal no more than justice, 
he hath not been an idle cur among the snows." 

"He hath been the instrument of saving seven Christians from death," answered 
the monk, beginning again to regard his mastifl" with friendly looks, for at first there 
had been keen reproach and severe displeasure m his manner — " not to speak of the 
bodies that have been found by his activity, after the vital spark had fled." 

" As for the latter, father, we can count little more in favor of the dog than a good 
intention. Valuing services on this scale, I might ere this have been the holy flither 
himself, or at least a cardinal ; but seven lives saved, for their owners to die quietly in 
their beds, and with opportunity to make their peace with Heaven, is uo bad recom- 
mendation for a dog. Nettuno, here, is every way worthy to be the friend of old 
Uberto, for thirteen drowning men have I myself seen him draw from the greedy jaws 
of sharks and other monsters of deep water. What dost thou say, father ; shall we 
make peace between the brutes ?" 

The Augustine expressed his readuiess, as well as his desire, to aid in an eftbrt so 
laudable, and by dint of commands and persuasion, the dogs, who were predisposed to 
peace from ha\ing had a mutual taste of the bitterness of war, and who now felt for 
each other the respect which courage and force are apt to create, were soon on the 
usual terms of animals of their kind that have no particular grounds for contention. 




35 




XIII. 
THE MONIKINS. 



Enjoyment of tlie Imraorons, a relish of the comical and ludicrous, were very 
strongly marked in Mr. Cooper's familiar life. At the table, by the fireside, his 
conversation was full of cheerful vivacity, of fun and pleasantry. He talked in- 
variably with great freedom and fulness — often with an earnestness, a power, and 
an eloquence which riveted the attention of those about him. While ti)uching 
upon some subject of a grave nature — esijccially when moral feeling was fully 
aroused — language, and manner, and countenance would appear severe and stern 
in the extreme. An hour later, perhaps, the same fine countenance would become 
beaming with kindliness, or glowing with merrinrent. He delighted in a 
humorous anecdote, in a witty remark. Wlien, in the course of i-eading, any 
thing of this nature came in his way, he was never satisfied unless it was shared 
with others ; very frequently the laughable passage was carried immediately into 
the family circle, and read by him with infinite zest, and with a singularly hearty 
laugh — tears of merriment, meanwhile, rolling down his cheeks. 

The idea of a satirical tale, in which the parts usually filled by men should 
be gravely carried out by monkeys, suggested itself to Mr. Cooper, while travel- 
ling in Europe. In the year 1835, the book was written, and published imder the 
name of ''The Monikins." Tlie leading idea was certainlv excellent ; two human 



^ 



THE M ON I KINS. 



275 



beings, cacli i)artieiilarly well sketched in his way — the English hai-oiiet, Sir John 
Goldenealf, and the Yankee skipper, Captain Xoah Poke, of "Stnnin'tnn" — are 
made to travel in company throngli nionkeylaud, visiting regions which, under 
the names of Leaphigh, Leap)low, and Leapthrongh, are intended to represent 
England, America, and France. There are piages full of wit, fun, the most clever 
satire, and strong truth. Bnt, as a complete work, the hook was scarcely success- 
ful ; it was too long, the vein of irony was often too complicated, while the 
blending of the humorous story of Sir John and his lady-love, introduced to give 
the volumes something of the character of a regular novel, was clearly an error. 
The work was hastily w^'ittcn ; had the author given himself time — which a tusk 
of this nature requires above all others ; had he condensed his two volumes into 
one, rejected the love story, and thrown aside the more complicated passages of 
satire, the work would, no doubt, have come nearer to the idea he had conceived. 
But "The Monikins" is one of those books which prove that publishers may 
sometimes mistake their own interests. It would have been tlie autlioi''s wish to 
write a single volume, exclusively filled with his Monikin people — vour Lord 
Chatterinos, vour Ladv Chatterissas, vour Brigadiers Downright, your Judges, 
People's-Friends : something approaching to the regular novel in size and \Aot was 
required of him, in order to attract, if jiossiblc, the general reader. The attempt 
to combine both objects proved, as might have been foreseen, an error. 




i.iir 




DR. REASONO AND HIS PARTY. 



The group wliicli drew my attention was composed of six individuals, two of which 
were animals of the genus homo, or what is vulgarly termed mcai; and the remainder 
were of the order jirhnates, and of the class mmnmalia, or what, in common parlance, 
are called mo)ilxeys. 

The first were Savoyards, and may he generally descril)ed as being unwashed, 
raggid, M\t\ carnivorous ; in color, swarthi/ ; in lineaments and expression, rt^;ff>•^e^oMS 
and shrewd ; and in appetites, voracious. The latter were of the common species, of 
the usual size, and of approved gravity. There were two of each sex ; being very 
equally paired as to years and external advantages. 

The monkeys were all habited with more or less of the ordinary attire of our 
modei-n European civilization ; but peculiar care had been taken with the toilet of the 
senior of the two males. This individual had on the coat of a hussar — a cut that 
woTild have given a particular part of his body a more military contour than comported 
with his real character, were it not for a red petticoat, that was made shorter than 
common — less, however, with a view to show a pretty foot and ankle, than to leave 
the nether limbs at liberty to go through with certain extravagant efforts, which the 
Savoyards were unmercifully exacting from liis natural agility. He wore a Spanish 
h.at, decorated with a few bedraggled feathers ; a white cockade, and a wooden sword. 
In ad<lition to the latter, lie carried in his hand a small broom. 

Observing that my attention was strongly attracted to this party, the ill-favored 
Savoyar<ls immediately commenced a series of experiments in saltation, with the sole 



DR. R E A S X <J AND HIS PARTY. 277 

view, beyond a question, to profit by my curiosity. The iuoftensive victims of this act 
of brutal tyranny submitted with a patience worthy of the profoundest philosopliy, 
meeting the wishes of their masters with a readiness and dexterity that was beyond all 
praise. One swept the earth, another leaped on the back of a dog, a third threw 
liiniself head-over-heels, again and again, without a murmur ; and the fourth moved 
gracefully to and fro, like a young girl hi a quadrille. All this might have passiM] 
without calling for particular remark (since, alas! the spectacle is only too common), 
were it not for certain eloquent ajipeals that were made to me, through the eyes, by the 
individual in the hussar jacket. His look was rarely averted from my face for a 
moment, and, hi tliis way, a silent communion was soon established between us. I 
observed that his gravity was indomitable. Nothing could elicit a smile, or a change 
of countenance. Obedient to the whip of his brutal master, he never refused the 
required leap ; for minutes at a time, his legs and petticoat described confused circles 
in the air, appearing to have taken a final leave of the earth ; but, the effort ended, he 
invariably descended to the ground with a quiet dignity and composure, that showed 
how little the inward monkey partook of the antics of the outward animal. Drawing 
my companion a httle aside, I ventured to suggest a few thoughts to hmi on the 
subject. 

" Really, Captain Poke, it appears to me there is great injustice in the treatment 
of these poor creatures !" I said. " What right have these two foul-looking black- 
guards to seize upon beings much more interesting to the eye, and, I dare say, far 
moi-e intellectual, than themselves, and cause them to throw their legs about in this 
extravagant manner, under the penalty of stripes, and without regard to their feelings, 
or to their convenience ? I say, sii-, the measure ayipears to me to be intolerably op- 
pressive, and it calls for prompt redress." 

" King !" 

" King or subject, it does not alter the moral deformity of the act. What have 
these innocent beings done, that they should be subjected to this disgrace ? Arc they 
not flesh and blood, like ourselves — do they not approacli nearer to our form, and, for 
aught we know to the contrar_y, to our reason, than any other animal ? and is it toler- 
able that our nearest imitations, our very cousins, should be thus dealt by ? Are they 
dogs, that they are treated like dogs?" 

"Why, to my notion. Sir John, there isn't a dog on 'arth that can take such a sum- 
merset. Their flapjacks are quite extraor'nary !" 

" Yes, sir, and more than extraordinary — they are oppressive. Place yourself, Mr. 
Poke, for a single instant, in the situation of one of these persons ; fancy that you liad 
a hussar jacket squeezed upon your brawny shoulders, a petticoat placed over your 
lower extremities, a Spanish hat with bedraggled feathers set upon your head, a 
wooden sword stuck at your side, and a broom put into your hand ; and that these two 
Savoyards were to menace you with stripes unless you consented to throw summerspts 



27S PAGES AND PICTURES. 

for the anmsenient of strangers— I only ask yoii to make the case yonr own, sir, and 
then say what course you would take, and what you would do 'i"' 

"I would lick both of these young blackguards, Sir John, without remorse, break 
the sword and the broom over their heads, kick their sensibilities till they couldn't see, 
and take my course for Stunin'tun, where I belong." 

" Yes, sir, this might do with the Savoyards, who are young and feeble" — 

'"Twouldn't alter the case nnuh, if two of these Frenchmen were in their places," 
put in the Captain, glaring wohishly about him. " To be plain with you. Sir John 
Goldencalf, being human, I'd submit to no such monkey tricks." 

" Do not use the term reproachfully, Mr. Poke, I entreat of you. We call these 
animals monkeys, it is true; but we do not know what they call themselves. Man is 
merely an aninuil, and you must very well know" — 

" Ilarkee, Sir John," interrupted the Captain, " I'm no botanist, and do not pretend 
to more schooling than a sealer has need of for finding his way about tlie 'arth ; but, 
as for a man's being an animal, I just wish to ask you, now, if, in j-our judgment, a 
hog is also an animal ?" 

" Beyond a doubt — and fleas, and toads, and sea-serpents, and lizards, aud water- 
devils — we are all neither more nor less than animals." 

" Well, if a hog is an animal, I am willing to allow tlie relationship ; for, in the 
course of my experunce, wliich is not small, I have met with men that you might have 
mistaken for hogs, in every thing but the bristles, the snout, and the tail. I'll never 
deny what I've seen with my own eyes, though I suiier for it ; and therefore I admit 
that hogs being animals, it is more than likely that some men must l)e animals too." 

" We call these interesting beings monkeys ; but how do we know that they do 
not return the compliment, and call us, in their own particular dialect, something quite 
as offensive. It would become our species to manifest a more equitable and j)hilosophi- 
cal spirit, and to consider these interesting strangers as an unfortunate fiimily which 
has fliUen into the hands of brutes, and which is, in eveiy way, entitled to our com- 
miseration and our active interference. Hitherto, I have never sufficiently stimulated 
mj' sympathies for the animal world, by any investment in qu.-uliMqieds ; but it is my 
intention to write to-morrow to my English agent to purchase a pack of hounds and a 
suitable stud of horses ; and by way of quickening so laudable a resolution, I shall 
fortlnvilh make propositions to the Savoyards for the speedy emancipation of this 
family of amiable foreigners. The slave-trade is an innocent jiastime, compared to the 
cruel oppression that the gentleman in the Spanish hat, in particular, is compelled to 
endure." 

"King!" 

"He may be a king, sure enough, in his own country, Captain Poke; a fact that 
would add tenfold agony to his immerited sufferings." 

IIereu]ion I ))roceeded, without more ado, to open a negotiation with the Savoyards. 



DR. REASONO AND HIS PARTY. 279 

The judicious application of a few Napoleons soon brought about a happy understanding 
between the contracting parties, when the Savoyards transferred to my hands the 
strings which confined their vassals, as the formal and usual acknowledgment of the 
riglit of ownership. Committing the three others to the keeping of Mr. Poke, I led the 
individual in the hussar-jacket a httle on one side ; and, r.aising my hat, to show that I 
was superior to the vulgar feeluig of feudal superiority, I addressed him, briefly, in 
the following words : 

" Although I have ostensibly bought the right which these Savoyards professed to 
have in your persons and services, I seize an early occasion to inform you that, virtu- 
ally, you are now free. As we are among a people accustomed to see your race in 
subjection, however, it may not be prudent to proclaim the nature of the present 
transaction, lest there might be some further conspiracies against your natural rights. 
"We will retire to my hotel, forthwith, therefore, where your future happiness shall be 
the stibject of our more mature, and of our united deliberations." 

The respectable stranger in the hussar-jacket heard me with inimitable gravit}- and 
self-command, until, in the warmth of feeling, I raised an arm in earnest gesticulation, 
when, most probably overcome by the emotions of delight that were naturally awak- 
ened in his bosom by this sudden change of fortune, he threw three somersets — or 
flapjacks, as Captain Poke had quaintly designated his evolutions — in so rapid a succession, 
as to render it, for a moment, a matter of doubt whether nature had placed his head or 
his heels uppermost. 

Making a sign for Captain Poke to follow, I now took my way directly to the Rue 
de Rivoli. We were attended by a constantly increasing crowd, until the gate of the 
hotel was fairly entered ; and glad was I to see my charge safely housed, for there 
were abundant indications of another design upon their rights, in the taunts and ridi- 
cule of the living mass that rolled up, as it were, upon our heels. 

********** 




280 • PAGESANDPICTURES. 

" How, sir ? are you not, then, of the same taiiiily as all the otlier monkeys that we 
see Iiopping and skipping about the streets?" 

" No more, sir, tlian you are of the same family as the flat-nosed, tliick-lipped, low- 
brou'e<l, ink-skinned negro, or the squalid, passionless, brutahzed Esquimaux. I have 
said tliat nature delights in vagaries; and all these are no more than some of her mys- 
tifications. Of this class is the elephant, who, while verging nearest to pure materialism, 
makes a deceptive parade of the quality he is fast losing. Instances of this s])ecies of 
Ijlaying trumps, if I may so express it, are common in all classes of beings. How often, 
for instance, do men, just as they are abo\it to fail, nuike a parade of wealth ; women 
seem obdurate an hour before they capitulate ; and diplomatists call Heaven to be a 
witness of their resolutions to the contrary, the day before they sign and seal ? In the 
case of the elephant, however, there is a slight exception to the genei'al rule, wliich is 
founded on an extraordinary struggle between mind and matter, the for:ner making an 
eftbrt that is unusual, and wliich may be said to form an exception to the ordinary 
warliire between these two principles, as it is commonly conducted in the retrogressive 
class of animals. The most infallible sign of the triumph of mind over nuitter is in the 
development of the tail" — 

" King !" 

" Of the tail, Dr. Reasono ?" 

" By all means, sir ; that seat of reason, the tail ! Pray, Sir John, what other portion 
of our frames did you im^agine was indicative of intellect ?" 

" Among men. Dr. Reasono, it is commonly thought the head is the more honorable 
member, and, of late, we have made analytical maps of this ])art of our physical for- 
mation, by which it is pretended to know the breadth and length of a moral quality, 
no less than its boundaries." 

" You have made the best use of your materials, such as they were, and I dare say 
the map in question, all things considered, is a very clever performance. But in the 
complication and abstruseness of this very moral chart (one of which I perceive 
standing on your mantel-piece), you may learn the confusion which still reigns over 
the human intellect. Now, in regarding us, you can understand the very converse of 
your dilemma. How much easier, for instance, it is to take a yard-stick, and, by a 
simple admeasurement of a tail, come to a sound, obvious, and incontrovertible con- 
clusion as to the extent of the intellect of the specimen, than by the complicated, 
contradictory, self-balancing, and questionable process to which you are reduced ! 
Were there only this fact, it would abundantly establish the higher moral condition of 
the monikiu race, as it is compared with that of man." 

" Dr. Reasono, am I to understand that the monikiu family seriously entertain a 
position so extravagant as this : that a monkey is a creature more intellectual and more 
highly civUized than man ?" 

" Seriously, good Sir John ! Why, you are the first respectable person it has been 



DR. RBASONO AND HIS PARTY. 281 

my fortune to meet, who has even afiected to doubt the fact. It is well known that 
both belong to the improvahle, class of animals, and that monkeys, as you are pleased 
to term us, were once men, with all their passions, weaknesses, inconsistencies, modes 
of philosophy, unsound ethics, fraUties, incongruities, and subserviency to matter ; that 
they passed into the monikin state by degrees ; and that large divisions of them are 
constantly evaporating into the immaterial world, completely spiritualized, and free 
from the dross of flesh. I do not mean in what is called death — for that is no more 
than an occasional deposit of matter, to be resumed in a new aspect, and with a nearer 
approach to the grand results (whether of the improvahle or of the retrogressive 
classes) — but those final mutations which transfer us to another planet, to enjoy a 
higher state of being, and leaving us always on the high road toward final excellence." 

" All this is very ingenious, sir ; but, before you can persuade me into the belief that 
man is an animal inferior to a monkey, Dr. Reasono, you will allow me to say that you 
must prove it." 

"Aye, aye; or me either," put in Captain Poke, waspishly. 

" Were I to cite my proofs, gentlemen," continued the philosopher, whose spirit 
appeared to be much less moved by our doubts than ours were by his position — "I 
should, in the first place, refer you to history. All the monikin writers are agreed in 
recording the gradual translation of the species from the human family" — 

" This may do very well, sir, for the latitude of Leaphigh, but jiermit me to say that 
no human historian, from Moses down to Buftbn, has ever taken such a view of our 
respective races. There is not a word in any of all these writers on the subject." 

"How should there be, sir? History is not a prediction, but a record of the past. 
Their silence is so much negative proof in our favor. Does Tacitus, for instance, speak 
of the French Revolution? Is not Herodotus silent on the subject of the independence 
of the American continent ? Or do any of the Greek and Roman writers give us the 
annals of Stunin'tun — a city whose foundations were most probably laid some time 
after the commencement of the Christian era ? It is morally impossible that men or 
monikins can faithfully relate events that have never happened ; and, as it has never 
yet happened to any man, who is still a man, to be translated to the monikin state of 
being, it follows, as a necessary consequence, that he can know nothing about it. If 
you want historical proofs, therefore, of what I say, you must search the monikin 
annals for the evidence. There it is to be found, with an infinity of curious details ; 
and I trust the time is not for distant, when I shall have great pleasure in pointing out 
to you some of the most approved chapters of our best writers on this subject. But 
we are not confined to the testimony of history, in establishing our condition to be of 
the secondary formation. The internal evidence is triumphant: we appeal to our sim- 
plicity, our philosophy, the state of the arts among us ; in short, to all those concur- 
rent proofs which are dependent on the highest possible state of civilization. In 
addition to this, we have the infallible testimony which is to be derived from the 
36 



282 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

development of our tails. Our system of caudology is, in itself, a triumphant proof of 
the liigh improvement of the monikin reason." 

" Do I comprehend you aright. Dr. Reasono, when I understand your system of 
caudology — or tailology, to render it into the vernacular — to dogmatize on the possibility 
that the seat of reason in a man, which to-day is certainly in his brains, can ever 
descend into a tail ?" 

"If you deem development, improvement, and simplification, a descent, beyond a 
question, sir. But your figure is a bad one. Sir John ; for ocular demonstration is 
before you that a monikin can carry liis tail as high as a man can possibly carry his 
head. Our species, in this sense, is morally nicked ; and it costs us no effort to be on 
a level with human kings. We hold, with you, that the brain is the seat of reason 
while the animal is in what we call the human probation, but that it is a reason unde- 
veloped, imperfect, and confused ; cased, as it were, in an envelope unsuited to its 
functions ; but that, as it gradually oozes out of this straitened receptacle, toward the 
base of the animal, it acquires solidity, lucidity, and, finally, by elongation and develop- 
ment, point. If you examine the human br.ain, you will find it, though capable of 
being stretched to a great length, compressed in a diminutive compass, involved and 
snarled; whereas the same physical portion of the genus gets simplicity, a beginning 
and an end, a directness and consecutiveness that are necessary to logic, and, as has 
just been mentioned, a point, in the monikin seat of reason, which, by all analogy, go 
to prove the superiority of the animal possessing advantages so great." 

" Nay, sir, if you come to analogies, they will be found to prove more than you may 
wish. In vegetation, for instance, saps ascend for the purposes of fructification and 
usefulness ; and, reasoning from the analogies of the vegetable world, it is far more 
probable that tails have ascended into brains, than that brains have descended into 
tails ; and, consequently, that men are much more likely to be an improvement on 
monkeys, than monkeys an improvement on men." 

I spoke with warmth, I know ; for the doctrine of Dr. Reasono was new to me ; 
and, by this time, my esprit de corps had pretty effectually bfinded reflection. 

" You gave him a red-hot shot that time, Sir John," whispered Captain Poke at my 
elbow ; " now, if you are so disposed, I will wring the necks of all these little black- 
guards, and throw them out of the window." 

I immediately intimated that any display of brute force would militate directly against 
our cause ; as the object, just at that moment, was to be as immaterial as possible. 

" Well, well, manage it in your own way. Sir John, and I'm quite as immaterial as 
you can wish ; but should these cunning varments ra'ally get the better of us in the 
argument, I shall never dare look at Miss Poke, or show my flico ag'in in Stunin'tun." 

This little aside was secretly conducted, while Dr. Reasono was drinking a glass of 
ccm sucrce ; but ho soon returned to the subject, with the dignified gravity that never 
forsook him. 



DR REASONO AND HIS PARTY 283 

" 1 our remark touching sajJS has tlie usual savor of human ingenuity, blended, 
however, witli the jiroverbial short-sightedness of the species. It is very true that saps 
ascend for the purposes of fructification ; but what is this fructification to which you 
allude ? It is no more than a false demonstration of the energies of the plant. For 
all the purposes of growth, life, durability, and the final conversion of the vegetable 
matter into an element, the root is the seat of power and authority ; and, in jiarticular, 
the tap-root above, or rather below, all others. This tap-root may bo termed the tail 
of vegetation. You may pluck fruits with impunity — nay, you may even top all the 
bi'anches, and the tree shall survive ; but, put the axe to the root, and the pride of the 
forest falls !" 

Ail this was too evidently true to be denied, and I felt worried and badgered ; for 
no man likes to be beaten in a discussion of this sort, and more especially by a monkey. 
I bethought me of the elephant, and determined to make one more thrust, by the aid 
of his powerful tusks, before I gave up the point. 

" I am inclined to think, Dr. Reasono," I put in as soon as possible, " that your 
savans have not been very happy in illustrating their theory by means of the elephant. 
This animal, besides being a mass of flesh, is too well provided with intellect to be 
passed ofl' for a dunce ; and he not only has one, but he might almost be said to be 
provided witli tico tails." 

" That has been his chief misfortune, sir. Matter, in the great warfare between 
itself and mind, has gone on the principle of divide and conquer. You are nearer the 
truth than you imagined, for the trunk of the elephant is merely the abortion of a 
tail ; and yet, you see, it contains nearly all the intelligence that the animal possesses. 
On the subject of the fate of the elephant, however, theory is confirmed by actual 
experiment. Do not your geologists and naturalists speak of the remains of animals, 
which are no longer to be found among living things ?" 

" Certainly, sir ; the mastodon — the megatherium, iguanodon ; and the plesio- 
saurus" — 

" And do you not also find unequivocal evidences of animal matter incorporated 
with rocks ?" 

" This fiict must be admitted, too." 

"These phenomena, as you call them, are no more than the final deposits which 
nature has made in the cases of those creatures in which matter has completely over- 
come its rival, mind. So soon as the will is entirely extinct, the being ceases to live ; 
or it is no longer an animal. It falls and reverts altogether to the element of matter. 
The processes of decomjjosition and incorporation are longer, or shorter, according to 
circumstances ; and these fossil remains of which your writers s.ay so much, are merely 
cases that have met with accidental obstacles to their final decomposition. As respects 
our two species, a very cursory examination of their qualities ought to convince any 
candid mind of the truth of our philosophy. Thus, the physical part of man is much 



284 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

greater in proportion to the spiritual than it is in the monikin ; his habits are grosser 
and less intellectual ; he requires sauce and condiments in his food ; he is iarther 
removed from simplicity, and, by necessary implication, from high civilization ; he eats 
flesh, a certain proof that the material princii>le is still strong in the ascendant ; he 
has no caxtdiC — 

" On this point. Dr. Reasono, I would imiuire if your scholars attach any weight to 
traditions ?" 

" The greatest possible, sir. It is the monikin tradition that our species is composed 
of men refined, of diminished matter and augmented minds, with the seat of reason 
extricated from the confinement and confusion of the cajnd, and extended, unravelled, 
and rendered logical and consecutive, in the cauda." 

" Well, sir, we, too, have our traditions ; and an eminent writer, at no great distance 
of time, has laid it down as incontrovertible, that men once had caudce^ 

" A mere prophetic glance into the future, as coming events are known to cast their 
shadows before." 

" Sir, the phUosopher in question establishes his jjosition by pointing to the stumps." 

" He has unluckily mistaken a foundation-stone for a ruin ! Such errors are not 
uufrequent with the ardent and ingenious. That men -will have tails, I make no doubt; 
but that they have ever reached this point of perfection, I do most solemnly deny. 
There are many premonitory symptoms of their approaching this condition : the cur- 
rent opinions of the day, the dress, habits, fashions, and philosophy of the species, 
encourage the belief; but hitherto you have never reached the enviable distinction. 
As to traditions, even your own are all in favor of our theory. Thus, for instance, you 
have a tradition that the earth was once peopled by giants. Now, this is owing to the 
fact that men were formerly more under the influence of matter, and less under that 
of mind, than to-day. You admit that you diminish in size, and improve in moral 
attaiimients ; all of which goes to establish the truth of the monikin philosophy. 
You begin to lay less stress on physical, and more on moral excellencies ; and, in 
short, many things show that the time for the final liberation and grand development 
of your brains is not far distant. This much I very gladly concede ; for, while the 
dogmas of our schools are not to be disregarded, I very cheerfully admit that you are 
our fellow-creatures, though in a more infant and less improved condition of society." 

" Khig !" 

Here Dr. Reasono announced the necessity of taking a short intermission, in order 
to refresh himself. I retired with Captain Poke, to have a little communication with 
my fellow-mortal, under the peculiar circumstances in which we were placed, and to 
ask his ojiinion of \\hat had been said. Noah swore bitterly at some of the conclu- 
sions of the monikin philosopher, affirming he should like no better sport than to hear 
him lecture in the streets of Stunin'tun, where, he assured me, such doctrine would 
not be tolerated any longer than was necessary to sharpen a harpoon, or to load a gun. 




I Wli'i,' |..>1l, Iiriui'-'U ii.'V' h.v 




XIV. 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 



Love of country was a feeling which, with the author of "The Bravo," had 
far more than couimon dei)th. Tliere were many years of his life durinir which 
that feeling may he said to have jjartaken of the nature of a passion. Born 
with the country, the sympathies of his own ardent youth flowed naturally in tlie 
same current with the young life of the nation. Tlie glow of an interest almost 
personal ■was felt in every important step of advancing civilization : the opening 
of broad forests, the tilling of great jjlains and valleys, the movement of busy 
fleets of shipping on river and coast, the l)uilding of manufactories and ware- 
houses, the progress of cities and villages, were all in turn followed with a 
closely-observant and animated eye, and appreciated with intelligent and practi- 
cal insight into details. This sense of vigorous growth was, indeed, an unceasing 
source of enjoyment to him. In physical activity, in energy of spirit, lie was 
most essentially American. The higher elements which make up national feeling 
were, of course, still more powerful in their influences : the early history of the 
countiy, its honorable oi'igin, its healthful colonial progress, its independence so 
gallantly won, its achievements in arms by land and sea, its diffusion of ediica- 
tion, and, above all, its political and religious constitution, wise, and just, and 
generous in spirit, were so many sources of honest pride. No man in tlie country 
bore about a heart more loyal in its allegiance than his own. And as years 
passed over, during a long period, they brought little change in the fervor of this 
feeling ; the experience of maturity had no power of itself to chill the enthu- 
siasm of his nature. At the moment when early manhood was passing away, a 



286 . P A (J E S A N D P I C T U R E S . 

new career, wholly unforeseen, sndtleiily opened before him ; the first important 
step in that career gave to the world as noble a personification of the spiiit of 
patriotism as literature can show. And the young writer liad scarcely made sure 
of his ground — had scarcely convinced himself of his abilit}' to maintain this 
new position, to move onward in the same course — ere the hojte arose of render- 
ing service to his country in the field of letters. With the power t<j act came 
simultaneously the resolution to work for good. No writer could be more fully 
aware than himself of the importance of a healthful moral spirit pervading the 
lighter literature of a nation ; entirely free from puritanical tendencies alike in 
nature and in education, he believed the existence of a literature in that form to 
be a sort of necessity among every reading people — as much so as the existence 
of laugh or song, in every Iniman household. The importance of these lesser 
influences he rated highly ; he inclined to the opinion of him who said : " Let 
me make the songs of a people, and its laws you may shape as you please !" 
The power for good, or for evil, of this element in the education of a jjeople, he 
held to be great — fearful in its facilities to excite, to pervert, to enervate, to cor- 
rupt, in the hands of the unprinci})led and selfish, but capable, when worthily 
emjjloyed, of becoming an active agent for good in the sound, moral, and intel- 
lectual cultiire of a nation. A ji;st sense of responsibility, in a mind ever nobly 
conscientious, might have been sutficient to point out his course in this respect. 
But such an appeal to principle was scarcely needed. Where there is strong 
feeling, there service is no longer a severe duty ; the task sits lightly, is per- 
formed almost unconsciously, when a labor of love. It was no cold, abstract 
principle which made up jJatriotism in the heart which conceived the character 
of Harvey Birch ; nay, more, it was not C)nly that local ati'ection of soil and 
scene, which is the instinctive growth of every healthful nature ; it was human 
sympathy in one of its highest forms, it was a love of his kind, of his fellow- 
countrymen — ardent, generous, and active — which guided his pen. 

Under influences of this character the first works of a long series were written. 
It recpiired but brief reflection to show tiiat in behalf of a young nation there 
was much especial mental work to be done. There Avas fresh seed to be sown 
in the new soil. Tiie infusion of old and eternal principles into new forms was to 
be carried out. The cultivation of a liealthful national tone, blending the self- 
respect of a firm position with that spirit of mental growth, of moral amelioration, 
becoming the period of early youth — the chci-ishing of clear moral truth, of 
sound reasoning, of strong common sense, of pure feeling, of good taste — all this 
needed to be carried out into detail, amid institutions jjartially novel in form. 
To be one among those who should aid in this onward progress, this upward 



HOMEWARD BOUND. , 287 

growth, of a high, free, Christian civilization, became his object as a writer; and 
he threw himself into the task with that ardor, that untiring spirit, and that 
biioyancy of a hopeful nature, which so strongly marked his course through life. 
" Tlie Spy," " The Pioneers," " The Pilot," " The Mohicans," " The Prairie," 
were written. He sailed for Europe. And as he touched the shores of the old 
world, he felt that he had acquired a right to an lionest pride in the name of an 
American ; the pen in his hand had already given something toward an honor- 
able fame for his country. He entered into European society, courted as literary 
men of reputation usually are in those countries. Here, to his surprise, he soon 
discovered that, while far more of personal homage than ho could liavc antici- 
pated — far mure than he sought or \visiied for — was offered to himself as to other 
distinguished writers, his country was overlooked — as he conceived, imdervalued 
and decried. This fact he attributed in a measure to political motives — ^to a dread 
of the influence of American institutions combined with American prosperity. 
Believing, as he conscientiously did, that those institutions were founded on 
principles true, just, and generous, he conceived it a duty to uphold them, in 
these assaults received in European society. And this course he steadfastly 
pm-sued ; no amount of personal flattery offered at the expense of his country, 
her history, and her political institutions, could ever draw from him even the 
tacit rejection often sought for. The remark was frequently made to him that 
American travellers very generally abandoned the political principles of their 
country when thrown into European society. He was resolved that no such 
accusation should justly be made against himself. 

It was during this period that " The Ked Rover," " The Travelling Bachelor," 
"The AVish-ton-Wish," "The Water-Witch," "The Bravo," were written— 
unchanged in the general tone of almost enthiisiastic fidelity to the country, and 
imdiminished in mental power. After an absence of nearly eight years, the 
author returned home. With the exception of old personal friends, true as ever, 
his reception was chilling and repelling in the extreme. For this he was in 
some measure prepared ; the reality, however, far surpassed what had been 
anticipated. With the publication of " The Bravo" had commenced a series of 
abuse in the public prints, which to an European must have appeared remark- 
able ; that a man who had left his country some eight years earlier, one of the 
most popular of its public characters ; should have passed those years in contrib- 
uting to the literary reputation of his country, in xipholding abroad her insti- 
tutions and character ; and then, as he again stepped on his native soil, be met 
with a burst of vulgar abuse only, may have seemed extraordinary to an intelli- 
gent observer from the old world. Let it be left to others — to those who take 



288 .. PAGES AND PICTURES. 

pleasure iii analyzing tlie nnwortliy passions of human nature, what is weak, 
trivial, ignoble, cowardly — to search more closely into the motives hy which too 
many of those abusive pens must have been guided. It has been said, and by 
those competent to judge, that a single sentence in the inti'oduction to "The 
Heidenmauer" was the first and chief cause of all the gross personal abuse with 
which, for many years, Mr. Fenimore Cooper was assailed : "Each hour, as life 
advances, am I made to see how capricious and vulgar is the immortality con- 
ferred by a newspaper !" This sentence drew, at the time, from the editor of one 
of the leading papers in the country, a threat of lasting personal persecution : 
" The press has built him up — the press shall pull him down !'' Which of 
these two remarks carried with it the larger share of truth, of justice, of 
uprightness of position, of honorable feeling, another generation is already 
deciding. 

The nature of Mr. Cooper was one easily aroused by attack ; while no man 
was more ready than he with heart, and hand, and lip, to reciprocate — nay, 
generously to go beyond, eveiy friendly advance ; yet assault instantly called out 
repelling jiower from him — and that, at times, perhaps, with a severity beyond 
what he was himself aware of. To criticism on his merits as a writer he always 
professed himself willing to allow the freest scope ; to falsehood and prolonged 
personal abuse, where his moral character was concei'ned, he declared that he 
would not submit. The laws should protect that character — if need were, he 
would compel their protection, by the powers of truth and justice inherent in 
their spirit, however inert their daily action might have become where others 
were concerned. Those laws insuring to every citizen the rights of private 
character should for himself no longer be a dead letter. He chose at length, 
after a long period of vituperation, to assei-t his rights — he resolved to maintain 
them. The struggle lasted for years. The first step in such a course implied the 
necessity of others. Fresh assailants poured in upon him, until hundreds — aye, 
perhaps thousands — were openly arrayed against one. Single-handed, as it were, 
but supported by an upright conscience and a powerful intellect, truth and 
justice on his side, the laws of the land his only weapon, he went with his 
legal companions into one court-room after another, and drew from jm-ies, often 
very strongly jjrejudiced against him, the conviction of his assailants. Seventeen 
different civil actions for libel were brought by him : of these, in nine cases the 
verdicts were in his favor ; five cases were settled by the defendants puljlishing 
retractions ; in one instance the case was not tried, owing to the death of the 
defendant ; in one case a judgment in his favor was given by the Supreme 
Court, but afterward reversed by the Court of Errors on the ground that pub- 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 289 

lication was not a libel ; one cause was still pending at the time of the author's 
death. Two criminal indictments fur libel were found, on his complaint. One 
of these cases was tried three times : on two occasions the juries disagreed, on 
the third occasion they acquitted the defendant ; in this instance no evidence was 
introduced by the defendant beyond partially mutilated extracts from the book 
reviewed, and every reader could make up his own mind as to the value of the 
verdict by comparing — were he disposed to do so — the book itself with the 
charges contained in the pretended criticism. In the second criminal case the 
libel was retracted, and the ju-osecution dropi)ed. It was Mr. Cooper's intention 
at first that the sums awarded as damages in these causes should be thrown into 
a common fund, and appropriated to some public object. But his pecuniary 
means were very limited, and he ultimately decided that the award of one cause 
should be made available in defraying the expenses of that M'hich followed. An 
account was kept, and no more was received than was expended in the same way. 
At the close of these proceedings the sums were evenly balanced. 

AVhen the tirst attacks, full of personal abuse, were puljlished at home, so 
clear was the author's conscience toward the country, that he was wholly un- 
prepared for them. They took him entirely by surprise. When these attacks 
increased in number and in virulence — when he found the whole current of 
public feeling yielding with thoughtless indifference, with pitiful weakness, to 
such guidance, until at length it had turned into a flood of enmity against an 
absent man — he was amazed. He paused awhile ; he stood awaiting and listen- 
ing for some friendly voice to be raised in his favor — for some generous and in- 
dignant word to be heard above this low clamor, this prolonged unmanly iteration 
of the most vulgar abuse. For that voice — for that word — during years he 
listened in vain. There were, no doubt, many who, in private, spoke in his 
behalf. In public there was not one to defend him. This silence on the part of 
his friends may have been in a measure owing to the fact that all who knew him 
personally were well aware that his was not the timid, sensitive nature which 
sinks under attack ; they knew him to be in every sense capable of self-defence. 
But if the power of his intellect was great ; if he had physical vigor and nerve 
beyond most men ; if in moral courage he was wholly dauntless — did they then 
believe the man who had conceived Harvey Birch — could they believe the man 
who created Natty — entirely without a heart ! The country he had been striving 
to serve was casting him off; very many among those whom he had looked upon 
as friends were turning against him — nay, were now active in swelling the general 
outcry of the throng. His spirit was deeply M-ounded. Tlie very enthusiasm of 
devotion which from boyhood had marked his love of country, its self-forgetfnl 
37 



290 PAOES AND PICTURES. 

disinterestedness ol" cliaracter, gave greater force to the revulsion of fueling. Foul 
were the blasts which now poured about that noble head from every quarter of 
the laud. No gallant ship of his own, storm and tempest raging fiercely about 
her ocean path, ever rode through gale of louder fury ; none ever bore aloft more 
bravely the colors confided to her. Never was he known to quail. " He writes 
like a hero !" had been the language already applied to him by a great English 
critic, Christopher North. As he wrote, so he lived. He now aroused himself 
in the fulness of his strength, a very lion at bay. Had this been a mere personal 
struggle, the single arm stemming that fierce current might have been swej^t 
away ; the residt might have been difierent. He woidd himself have wearied of 
such work, in ^'ery disgust. But, in reality, there was something far beyond 
personal interest at stake ; the struggle soon became one between principle and 
the sjjirit of tyranny, working imder the form of a regular condiination — a 
banded conspiracy, many against one ! " The King's name is a tower of 
strength," says the wise man. With habitual, firm trust in Providence, in the 
inlierent and inalienable powers of Truth and Justice when worthily upheld and 
steadfastly adhered to, he moved onward in the course he had marked out for 
himself; gradually, as weeks and months passed over, what there was of personal 
feeling, on his side, yielded more and more to motives involving general j>i"in- 
ciples. Tlie public press was, in his view, a power for life, or for death, to this 
nation. On the healthful uses or the criminal abiises of this single element, he 
considered that tlie lasting good or the eventual corruption and fall of the coun- 
try must inevitably depend, more than on any one other earthly influence. The 
poisons spread by the daily press — the spirit of error, of untruth, of dissension, 
of licentiousness — becomes blended with the daily life of every man, and woman, 
and child in the land — is necessarily infused into every vein of the body politic. 
No power for general corruption so great as that of the daily press ; no tyranny 
more selfish, more reckless, more shameless, where individual interests are con- 
cerned, if left unchecked to work its own will ; nay, no power so truly inimical 
to the eventiial freedom and healthful action of that press itself, as its own abuses. 
Laws, few, but clear and stringent, he believed absolutely necessary to counteract 
this tendency to corruption in the daily press — laws for the protection of public 
morals, for the protection of private rights. To see that these laws were carried 
into execution he held to be an obligation essentially connected with the very 
birthright of every citizen of a republic. 

It has been said that silence under similar attacks should liave been the 
author's course. It is to be hoped — nay, we may feel confident — that there are 
many in the country who could haveboriie in worthy silence obloquy even great and 



HOMEAVARU BOUND. 



291 



general as that -with Avliieh the autlior of "The Prairie" was assailed ; such might, 
perhaps, have been the course of the writer, and of the reader, of these luies. 
Btit let us turn our eves abroad ; let us int^uire of each other if there was at the 
time in the wliole rejiublic one other nature so resolute, so untiring, so independ- 
ent, so disinterested, so intrepid, as thus bravely to face single-handed the spirit 
of t;^Tanny in that particular tV)rni most trying to American nerve — a lorm dan- 
gerous, insidious, intolerant, remorseless, manifold — a mob armed with a show of 
mental power! Upheld by princiijle, and unappalled by the vituperation of 
half the nation, the author moved steadily onward. As he advanced in his 
coiu-se, the bitterness of personal feeling, the disappointment which had chilled 
his warm heart when the fickleness of j)opiilar favor was first discovered in its 
fulness, lessened almost daily ; reliance on Providence, the consciousness of innate 
integrity, the buoyancy of a naturally happy and joyous temper upheld him. 
His feelins toward the country underwent a chauire : the enthusiasm of that 
glowing devotion which he had carried with him for so many years had passed 
away, but not from the eftects of time, which had no j)ower of itself to chill 
affections strong, and generous, and deep as his own. It was now a sadder and 
a more sober feeling — still ready to give, still ready to serve, still gladly noting 
all of good — ^but it was the feeling which no longer looked for return of sym- 
pathy. 





THE ARABS. 



TnE accidents of life could scarcely have brought together, in circumstances so 
peculiar, men whose characters were more completely the converse of each other than 
Mr. Monday and Mr. Dodge. They were perfect epitomes of two large classes in their 
respective nations, and so diametrically opposed to each other, that one could hardly 
recognize in them scions from a common stock. The first was dull, obstinate, straight- 
forward, hearty in his manners, and not without sincerity, though wily in a bargain, 
with all his seeming frankness ; the last, distrustful, cunning, rather than quick of com- 
prehension, insincere, fowning when he thought his interests concerned, .ind jealous and 
detracting at all other times, with a coldness of exterior that had, at least, the merit of 
appearing to avoid deception. Both were violently prejudiced, though in Mr. Monday 
it was the prejudice of old dogmas in religion, politics, and morals; and, in the other, 
it was the vice of provincialism, and an education that was not entirely free from the 
fanaticism of the seventeenth century. One consequence of this discrepancy of char- 
acter was a perfectly opposite manner of viewing matters in this interview. While 
Mr. Monday was disposed to take things amicably, Mr. Dodge was all suspicion ; and, 
had they then returned to the wreck, the last would have called to arms, while the first 
would have .advised Captain Truck to go out and visit the sheik, in the manner one 
would visit a respectable and agreeable neighbor. 

Things were in this state, the sheik and his guests communicating by signs, in such 
a way as completely to mystify each other, Mr. Monday drinking, Mr. Dodge conjec- 
turing, and parties quitting the camp and arriving every ten minutes, when an Ar.ab 
pointed eagerly with his finger in the direction of the wreck. The head of the fore- 



THE ARABS. 293 

mast was slowly rising, and the look-out in the top was clinging to the spar, which 
began to cant, in order to keep himself from falling. The sheik affected to smile ; but 
he was evidently disturbed, and two or three messengers were sent out into the camp. 
In the meanwhile, the spar began to lower, and was soon entu'ely concealed beneath 
the bank. 

It was now apparent that the Arabs thought the moment had arrived when it was 
their policy to interfere. The sheik, therefore, left his guests to be entertained by two 
or three others who had joined in the potations, and making the best assurances he 
could by means of signs, of his continued amity, he left the tent. Laying aside all his 
arms, attended by two or three old men like himself, he went boldly to the plank, and 
descended quietly to the sands, where he found Captain Truck busied in endeavoring to 
get the spar into the water. The top was already afloat, and the stick itself was cut 
round in the right position for rolling, when the foul, but grave-looking barbarians ap- 
peared among the workmen. As the latter had been apprised of their approach, and 
of the fact of their being unarmed, no one left his employment to receive them, with 
the exception of Captain Truck himself. 

" Bear a hand with the spar, Mr. Leach," he said, " while I entertain these gentle- 
men. It is a good sign that they come to us without arms, and it shall never be said 
that we are behind them in civility. Half an hour will settle our affiiirs, when these 
gentry are welcome to what will be left of the Dane. Your servant, gentlemen ; I am 
glad to see you, and beg the honor to shake hands with all of you, from the oldest to 
the youngest." 

Although the Arabs understood nothing that was said, they permitted Captain 
Truck to give each of them a hearty shake of the hand, smiling, and muttering their 
own compliments with as much apparent good will as was manifested by the old 
seaman himself. 

" God help the Danes, if they have fallen into servitude among these blackguards !" 
said the captain, aloud, while he was shaking the sheik a second time most cordially 
by the hand ; " for a fouler set of thieves I never laid eyes on. Leach. Mr. Monday 
has tried the virtue of the schnaps on them, notwithstanding, for the odor of gin is 
mingled with that of grease about the old scoundrel. Roll away at the spar, boys ! 
half a dozen more such heaves, and you will have him in his native element, as the 
newspapers call it. I'm glad to see you, gentlemen ; we are badly off as to chairs, on 
this beach, but to such as we have you are heartily welcome. Mr. Leach, the Arab 
sheik ; Arab sheik, Mr. Leach. — On the bank there ?" 

"Sir?" 

" Any movement among the Arabs ?" 

"About thirty have just ridden back into the desert, mounted on camels, sir; 
nothing more." 

" No signs of our passengers ?" 



294 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

"Aye, aye, sir. Here comes Mr. Dodge under full sail, heading for the bank, as 
straight as he can lay his course." 

"Hah! Is he pursued ?" 

The men ceased their work, and glanced aside at their arms. 

" Not at all, sir. Mr. Monday is calling after liim, and the Arabs seem to be 
laughirng. Mr. Monday is just splicing the main-brace •«ath one of the rascals." 

" Let the Atlantic ocean, then, look out for itself, for Mr. Dodge will be certain to 
run over it. Heave away, my hearties, and the stick will be afloat yet before that gen- 
tleman is foirly docked." 

The men worked with good will, but their zeal was far less efficient than that of the 
editor of the "Active Inquirer," who now broke through the bushes, and plunged down 
the bank with a velocity which, if continued, would have carried him to Dodgeopolis 
itself within the month. The Arabs started at this sudden apparition, but, perceiving 
that those around them laughed, they were disposed to take the interruijtion in good 
part. The look-out now announced the approach of Mr. Monday, followed by fifty 
Arabs ; the latter, however, being without arms, and the former without his hat. The 
moment was critical, but the steadiness of Captain Truck did not desert him. Issuing 
a rapid order to the second mate, with a small jiarty previously selected for that duty, 
to stand by the arms, he urged the rest of the people to renewed exertions. Just as 
this was done, Mr. ]\Ionday appeared on the bank, with a bottle in one hand, and a 
glass in the other, calling aloud to Mr. Dodge to return and drink with the Arabs. 

" Do not disgrace Christianity in this unmannerly way," he said ; " but show these 
gentlemen of the desert that we know what propriety is. Captain Truck, I beg of you 
to urge Mr. Dodge to return. I was about to sing the Arabs ' God save the King,' 
and in a few more minutes we should have had ' Rule Britannia,' when we should have 
been the best friends and companions in the world. Captain Truck, I've the honor to 
drink your health." 

But Captain Truck viewed the matter differently. Both his ambassadors were now 
safely back, for Mr. Monday came down upon the beach, followed, it is true, by all the 
Arabs, and the mast was afloat. He thought it better, therefore, that Mr. Dodge 
should remain, and that the two parties should be as quietly, but as speedily as possible, 
separated. He ordered the hauling-line to be fostencd to the mast ; and, as the stick 
was slowly going out through the surf, he issued the order for the men to collect their 
implements, take their arms, and to assemble m a body at the rocks, where the jolly- 
boat still lay. 

"Be quick, men, but be steady; for there are a hundred of these rascals on the 
beach already, and all the last-comers are armed. We might pick up a few more 
useful things from the wreck, but the wind is coming in from the westward, and our 
principal concern now will be to save what we have got. Lead Mr. Monday along with 
yon, Leach, for he is so full of diplomacy and sc/maps, just now, that he forgets his 



THE ARABS. 295 

safety. As for Mr. Dodge, I see he is stowed away in the boat already, as snug as the 
ground-tier in a ship loaded with molasses. Count the men off, sir, and see that no one 
is missmg." 

By this time, the state of tilings on the beach had undergone material changes. 
The wreck was full of Arabs — some of whom were armed, and some not ; while mauls, 
crows, hand-spikes, purchases, coils of rigging, and marlin-spikes were scattered about 
on the sands, just where they had been dropped by the seamen. A party of fifty Arabs 
had collected around the rocks, where, by this time, all the mariners were assembled, 
intermingling with the latter, and apparently endeavoring to maintain the friendly 
relations which had been established by Sir. Monday. As a portion of these men were 
also armed. Captain Truck disliked their proceedings ; but the inferiority of his nmnbers, 
and the disadvantage under which he was placed, compelled him to resort to manage- 
ment, rather than force, in order to extricate himself. 

The Arabs now crowded around and intermingled with the seamen, thronged the 
ship, and lined the bank, to the number of more than two hundred. It became 
evident that their true force had been underrated, and that additions were constantly 
making to it, from those who lay behind the ridges of sand. All those who appeared 
last had arms of one kind or another, and several brought fire-arms, which they gave 
to the sheik, and to those who had first descended to the beach. Still, every face 
seemed amicable, and the men were scarcely permitted to execute their orders, from 
the frequent interruptions to exchange tokens of friendship. 

But Captain Truck fully believed that hostilities were intended, and, althougli he 
had suffered himself in some measure to be surprised, he set about repairmg his error 
with great judgment and admirable steadiness. His first step was to extricate his 
own people from those who pressed upon them — a thing that was effected by causing 
a few to take a position, that might be defended, higher among the rocks, as they 
afforded a good deal of cover, and which communicated directly with the place where 
they had landed ; and then ordering the remainder of the men to fall back singly. 
To prevent an alarm, each man was called off by name, and m this manner the whole 
party had got within the jirescribed limits, before the Arabs, who were vociferating 
and talking altogether, seemed to be aware of the movement. When some of the 
latter attempted to follow, they were gently repulsed by the sentinels. All this time 
Captain Truck maintained the utmost cordiality toward the sheik, keeping near him, 
and among the Arabs, himself. The work of plunder, in the meantime, had begim 
in earnest in the wreck, and this he thought a favorable symptom, as men thus 
employed would be less likely to make a hostile attack. Still, he knew that prisoners 
were of great account among these barbarians, and that an attempt to tow the raft 
off from the land, in open boats, where his people would be exposed to every shot 
from the wreck, would subject them to the greatest danger of defeat, were the former 
disposed to prevent it. 



290 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

Having reflected a few minutes on liis situation, Captain Truck issued his final 
orders. The jolly-boat might carry a dozen men at need, though they would be 
crowded and much exposed to fire ; and he, therefore, caused eight to get into her, 
and to pull out to the launch. Mr. Leach went with this party, for the double purpose 
of directing its movements, and of being separated from his commander, in order 
that one of those who were of so much importance to the packet might at least stand 
a chance of being saved. This separation also was eifected without alarming the Arabs, 
though Captain Truck observed that the sheik watched the proceeding narrowly. 

As soon as Mr. Leach had reached the launch, he caused a light kedge to be put 
into the jolly-boat, and coils of the lightest rigging he had were laid on the top of it, 
or were made on the bows of the launch. As soon as this was done, the boat was 
pulled a long distance off from the land, paying out the ropes first from the launch, 
and then from the boat itself, until no more of the latter remained. The kedge was 
then dropped, and the men in the launch began to haul in upon the ropes that were 
attached to it. As the jolly-boat returned immediately, and her crew joined in the 
work, the line of boats, the kedge by which they had previously ridden having been 
first raised, began slowly to recede from the shore. 

Captain Truck had rightly conjectured the efiect of this movement. It was so 
unusual and so gradual, that the laiuich and the raft were warped up to the kedge 
before the Arabs fully compi-ehended its nature. The boats were now more than a 
quarter of a mile from the wreck, for Mr. Leach had run out quite two hundred 
fathoms of small rope, and of course so distant as greatly to diminish the danger from 
the muskets of the Arabs, though still within reach of their range. Near an hour 
was passed in effecting this point, which, as the sea and wind were both rising, 
could not probably have been effected in any other manner, half as soon, if at all. 

The state of the weather, and the increasing turbulence of the barbarians, now 
rendered it extremely desirable to all on the rocks to be in their boats again. A very 
moderate blow would compel them to abandon their hard-earned advantages, and it 
began to be ]>retty evident, from the manners of those around them, that amity could 
not much longer be maintained. Even the old sheik retired, and, instead of going to 
the wreck, he joined the party on the beach, where he was seen in earnest conversa- 
tion with several other old men, aU of whom gesticulated vehemently, as they pointed 
toward the boats and to the party on the rocks. 

Mr. Leach now pulled in toward the bar, with both the jolly-boats and the cutter, 
having only two oars each, half his men being left in the launch. This was done that 
the people might not be crowded at the critical moment, and that, at need, there 
might be room to fight as well as to row ; all these precautions having been taken in 
consequence of Captain Truck's previous orders. When the boats reached the rocks, 
the people did not hurry into them ; but a quarter of an hour was passed in prepara- 
tions, as if they were indifferent about proceeding, and even then the jolly-boat alone 



THE ARABS. 



297 



took in a portion, and pulled leisurely without tlie bar. Here she lay on her oars, in 
order to cover the passage of the otlier boats, if necessary, with her fire. The cutter 
imitated this m.anoeuvre, and the boat of the wreck went last. Cajitain Truck quitted 
the rock after all the others, though his embarkation was made rapidly by a promjjt 
and sudden movement. 

Not a shot was fired, however ; and, contrary to his own most ardent hopes, the 
captain found himself at the launch, with all his people unhurt, and with all the spars 
he had so much desired to obtain. The forbearance of the Arabs was a mystery to him, 
for he had fully expected hostilities would commence, every moment, for the last two 
hours. Nor was he yet absolutely out of danger, though there was time to pause and 
look about him, and to take his succeeding measures more deliberately. The first 
report was a scarcity of both food and water. For both these essentials the men had 
depended on the wreck, and, in the eagerness to secure the fore-mast, and subsequently 
to take care of themselves, these important requisites had been overlooked — quite 
probably, too, as mucli from a knowledge that the Montauk was so near, as from hurry. 
Still, both were extremely desirable, if not indispensable, to men who liad the ])rospect 
of many hours' hard work before them ; and Captain Truck's first impulse was to 
despatch a boat to the shij) for supplies. This intention was reluctantly abandoned, 
however, on account of the threatening appearance of the weather. 

There was no danger of a gale, but a smart sea breeze was beginning to set in, 
and the surface of the ocean was, as usual, getting to be agitated. Changing all his 
plans, therefore, the captain turned his immediate attention to the safety of the all- 
important spars. 

" We can eat to-morrow, men," he said ; " but if we lose these sticks, our chance 
for getting any more will indeed be small. Take a gang on the raft, Mr. Leach, and 
double all the lashings, while I see that we get an ofiing. If the wind rises any niore, 
we shall need it, and even then be worse ofi" than we could wish." 

The mate passed upon the raft, and set about securing all the spars by additional 
fastenings ; for the working, occasioned by the sea, already rendered them loose, and 
liable toseparate. 

While this was in train, the two jolly-boats took in lines and kedges, of 
which, luckily, they had one that was brought from the packet, besides two found 
in the wreck, and pulled off into the ocean. As soon as one kedge was dropped, 
that by which the launch rode was tripped, and the boats were hauled up to it, the 
other jolly-boat proceeding on to renew the process. In this manner, in the course 
of two more hours, the whole, raft and all, were warped broad off from the land, and 
to wmdward, quite two miles, when the water became so deep that Captain Truck 
reluctantly gave the order to cease. 

" I would gladly work our way into the offing in this mode, three or four leagues," 
he said, "by which means we might make a fair wind of it. As it is, we must get all 
33 



298 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



clear, aud do as well as we can. Rig the masts in the launch, Mr. Leach, and we will 
see what can be done with this dull craft we have in tow." 

While this order was in course of execution, the glass was used to ascertain the 
manner in which the Arabs were occupied. To the surprise of all in the boats, every 
soul of them had disappeared. The closest scrutiny could not detect one near the 
wreck, on the beach, nor even at the spot where the tents had so lately stood. 

" They are all oflp, by George !" cried Captam Truck, when fully satisfied of the 
fact. " Camels, tents, and Arabs ! The rascals have loaded their beasts already, and 
most probably have gone to hide their plunder, that they may be back and make sure 
of a second haul, before any of their jirecious brother vultures, up in the sands, get a 

scent of the carrion. D n the rogues ; I thought at one time they had me in a 

category ! Well, joy be witli them ! Mr. Monday, I return you my hearty thanks for 
the manly, frank, and diplomatic manner in which you have discharged the duties of 
your mission. Without you, we might not have succeeded in getting the fore-mast. 
Mr. Dodge, you have the high consolation of knowing that, throughout this trying 
occasion, you have conducted yourself in a way no other man of the party could have 
done." 

Mr. Monday was sleeping off the fumes of the scluiaps, but Mr. Dodge bowed to 
the compliment, and foresaw many capital things for the journal, and for the columns 
of the " Active Inquire)-." He even began to meditate a book. 




■^s^ 




'fou ait 



aUonrance 



Jfl^me u^: Tl'Uiui 




1 \ IblON l^ THE DISTANCE. 



XV. 



HOME AS FOUND. 



After a long absence, the writer, on returning from ahroad, was stnick with 
the fact that, in some important particulars, the country had lost ground. Tlie 
pi'ogress hoped for in certain points of moral strength had not been attained. The 
timidity, the want of self-reliance, which had marked the first steps in the mental 
independence of the country, had passed away, and was now replaced by a vapid 
and sensitive public vanity, fostered by the fulsome flattery of selfish demagogues ; 
a spirit different, in its very essence, from a manly, and honest, and generous love 
of country, and from which no healtliful fruits, ^vhatever, could be expected. To 
counteract this puerile spirit — to distinguish clearly between the strong and the 
weak points open to observation — he considered to be a duty on the part of every 
honest wi-iter, who had the good of his country at heart. To aid in holding np a 
public standard, wliich should be at the same time high, and yet practical, he 
believed an especial duty in the citizen of a democracy, and of a nation isolated in 
position, immature in age ; a standard high and rational on all points of principle, 
of j^^dgment, and of culture. "A une grande station Von pent tout dire .'" was 



300 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

liis principle. Tliere were tvro particulars, in the growth of national character, 
by which he was especially disappointed. One might have supposed that, among 
the citizens of a republic, frankness of speech, independence of action, would 
scarcely appear as individual virtues ; we should have believed them natural con- 
sequences of that form of society. But far, indeed, was such from being the 
general state of the moral atmosphere which surrounded the writer on his return. 
He had not been at home a week, when, at an evening party, he had the ill luck 
carelessly to observe, that, on the evening of his arrival, he had been sadly jolted 
by the bad state of the pavement ; and that he had also been surprised to tind 
the town so poorly lighted. Anxious friends immediately gathei-ed about him, 
cautiously making a diversion in his favor ; and, at length, leading him aside, 
earnestly imploi-ed him to be more prudent. He had professed to enjoy exceed- 
ingly the bright November sunshine, the soft Indian-summer breezes, after the 
gloomy fogs and damp chills of the same season in London and Paris ; this was 
very well ; let him pursue that track, aud all might yet be safe ; but — by the 
shade of Washington ! by the memory of John Jay ! — of the pavement, not a 
word ! of the lamps, not one syllable ! He happened, at a dinner party, to allude 
to tlie fact that the Alps were some ten thousand feet higher than the White 
Mountains, and covered with perpetual snow. A severely reproving salutation, 
the next day, from those who had sat at table witli him, was the consequence. 
He was heard, in answer to repeated inquiries, to affirm that the natural scenery, 
and the classical interest of the shores of tlie bay of I^aples, far surpassed any 
claims of the bay of New York, beyond those of a maritime harbor ; his fate was 
sealed. He was, clearly, devoid alike of taste and of patriotism ! And again 
anxious friends gathered about him — imploring him, with increased earnestness, 
to avoid all such dangerous remarks ; or, if it were really true that the Alps were 
fifteen thousand feet high, and that Baise and Pompeii actually lay on the shores 
of the Neapolitan waters, let him, at least, attest the fact in a corner, and lower 
his voice to a whisper ! The effect of all this puerile weakness, this ^Jusillanimity 
in the general tone of society, at that moment, on a nature frank as his own, may 
be conceived. At fi^rst, this Krahwinkel spirit made him laugh ; when he met 
it continually, at every turn, it chafed and annoyed him ; and when he found it 
actually carried into matters of grave importance, it produced indignation and 
disgust. This state of things — this want of frankness, this morbid public vanity 
in connection with trifles — led him, perhaps, to the opposite extreme of carelessness 
and freedom of speech and pen. But a point still more grave, even, than this 
pjuerile sensitiveness about pavements and lamps, took him by surprise, gave him 
pain. He was too often struck by the generally low and selfish vein of those 



HOME AS FOUND. 301 

about him — the want of an elevated tone on points of taste, of morals, of practice. 
Among individuals, this tone ■was found as hiixh and vigorous as in his own mind 
and life ; yet, in general society, the aim openly sought, the object constantly 
avowed, seemed to him little beyond the acquirement of wealth, or the enjoyment 
of it in the way of wine and canvas-back ducks. Among the young men, especi- 
ally, the lack of noble and generous impulse, the lethargy, the torpid inaction — 
both physical and mental — actually amazed him. Far different had been his own 
youth. And latterly, in Europe, he had been accustomed to hear men feign, at 
least, some honorable aim in life ; utter just sentiments with their lips, even when 
they could not be supposed to feel them very deeply. But, with the low tone 
prevailing at the day, in American society, men seemed actually ashamed to 
adopt, or to avow, any object above those of the market. In connection with this 
subject, he frequently alluded to an observation made to him liy a friend of his — 
a distinguished Englishwoman — that it gave her great pleasure to observe the 
marked improvement in tone, among her countrj-men of the j)resent generation, 
whose moral education, acquirements, and objects in life were far superior to what 
they had been half a century earlier. The author could but hope that some similar 
change for good might yet appear in American education — something to excite a 
higher spirit ; to infuse motives more generous ; to arouse to action more decided, 
among the men of the country. To aid, in some degree, in pointing out the evil, 
in holding up this higher standard, became his object in " Home as Found." That 
the principle was just and honorable, is clear. That he may have erred in some 
of the details of his task is very possible. Which, among the wisest of the sons 
of earth, has had, in pursuing a course just in itself, no error of detail to regret? 

The shores of Lake Otsego were chosen for the scene of this book, solely 
from the fact that the same ground had been already described in an earlier 
stage of American society. The plot and characters of the book are, of course, 
entirely fictitious — repeatedly declared so by the author. One exception only 
must be made for a figure avowedly and minutely drawn from life — a figure long 
familiar to those living on the lake shores — a venerable figure, tall and upright, 
to be seen for some threescore years moving to and fro over the water, trolling 
for pickerel or angling for perch, almost am' day in the year, excepting when the 
waters were ice-bound in winter. 




THE COMMODORE. 



The boat now came under a shore where the trees fringed the very water, fre- 
quently overhanging the element that mirrored their lantastic forms. At this pomt, a 
light skiif was moving leisurely along in their own direction, hut a short distance in 
advance. On a hint from John Effingham, a few vigorous strokes of the oars brought 
the two boats near each other. 

" This is the flag-ship," half whispered John Effingham, as they came near the 
other skiff, " containing no less a man than the ' commodore.' Formerly, the chief of 
the lake was an admiral, but that was in times when, living nearer to the monarchy, 
we retained some of the European terms ; now, no man rises higher than a commodore 
in America, whether it be on the ocean or on the Otsego, whatever may be his merits 
or his services. A charming day, commodore ; I rejoice to see you still afloat, in your 
glory." 

The commodore — a tall, thin, athletic man of seventy, with a white head, and 
movements that were quick as those of a boy — had not glanced aside at the approach- 
ing boat until he was thus saluted in the well-known voice of John Effingham. He 
then turned his head, however, and scaiming the whole party through his spectacles, 
he smiled good-naturedly, made a flourish with one hand, while he continued paddling 
with the other, for he stood erect and straight in the stern of his skiff, and answered 
heartily — 

" A fine morning, Mr. John, and the right time of the moon for boating. This is 
not a real scientific day for the fish, perhaps ; but I have just come out to see that all 
the points and bays are in their right jilaces." 

" How is it, commo<lore, that the water near the village is less limpid than com- 
mon, and that even up here we see so many specks floating on its surface ?" 



THE COMMODORE. 303 

"What a question for Mr. John Effingham to ask on his native water! So much 
for travelling in far countries, where a man forgets quite as much as he learns, I fear." 
Here the commodore turned entirely round, and, raising an open hand in an oratorical 
manner, he added, " You must know, ladies and gentlemen, that the lake is in blow." 

" In blow, commodore ! I did not know that the lake bore its blossoms." 

" It does, sir, nevertheless. Aye, Mr. John, and its Fruits, too ; but the last must 
be dug for, like potatoes. There have been no miraculous draughts of the fishes, of 
late years, in the Otsego, ladies and gentlemen ; but it needs the scientific touch, and 
the knowledge of baits, to get a fin of any of your true game above the water, now- 
ardays. Well, I have had the head of the sogdoUager thrice in the open air, in 
my time ; though I am told the admiral actually got hold of him once with his 
hand." 

"The sogdoUager," said Eve, much amused with the singularities of the man, 
whom she perfectly remembered to have been commander of the lake, even in her 
own infancy ; "we must be indebted to you for an explanation of that term, as well 
as for the meaning of ^-our allusion to the head and the open air." 

" A sogdoUager, young lady, is the perfection of a thing. I know Mr. Grant used 
to say there v^ns no such word iu the dictionary ; but theu there are many words that 
ought to be in the dictionaries that have been forgotten by the printers. In the way 
of salmon trout, the sogdoUager is their commodore. Now, ladies and gentlemen, I 
should not like to teU you all I know about the patriarch of this lake, for you would 
scarcely beUeve me ; but if he would not weigh a hundred when cleaned, there is not 
an ox in the county that will weigh a pound when slaughtered." 

" You say you had his head above water ?" said John Effingham. 

"Thrice, ]\Ir. John. The first time was thirty years ago ; and I confess I lost him, 
on that occasion, by want of science ; for the art is not learned m a day, and I had 
then foUowed the business but ten years. The second time was five years later ; and 
I had then been fishing expressly for the old gentleman about a month. For near a 
minute, it was a matter of dispute between us, whether he should come out of the 
lake, or I go into it ; but I actuaUy got liis gills in plain sight. That was a glorious 
haul ! Washington did not feel better the night CornwaUis surrendered, than I felt on 
that great occasion !" 

" One never knows the feelings of another, it seems. I should have thought dis- 
appointment at the loss would have been the prevailing sentiment on that great 
occasion, as you so justly term it." 

" So it would have been, Mr. John, with an imscientific fisherman ; but we ex- 
perienced hands know better. Glory is to be measured by quality, and not by 
quantity, ladies and gentlemen ; and I look on it as a greater feather m a man's cap, to 
see the sogdoUager's head above water, for half a minute, than to bring home a skiff 
filled with pickerel. The last time I got a look at the old gentleman, I did not try to 



304- PAGES AND PICTURES. 

get him into the boat, but we s.it and conversed for near two minutes ; he in the water, 
and I in the skiif." 

" Conversed !" exclaimed Eve, " and with a fish, too ! What could the animal have 
to say ?" 

" Why, young lady, a fish can talk as well as one of ourselves ; the only difliculty 
is to understand what he says. I have heard the old settlers affirm that the Leather- 
stocking used to talk for hours at a time with the animals of the forest." 

" You knew the Leather-stocking, commodore ?" 

" No, young lady, I am sorry to say I never had the pleasure of looking on him 
even. He was a great man ! They may talk of their Jeffersons and Jacksons, but I 
set down Washington and Natty Bumppo as the two only really great men of my 
time." 

" What do you think of Bonaparte, commodore ?" inquired Paiil. 

" Well, sir, Bonaparte had some strong points about him, I do really believe. But 
he could have been nothing to the Leather-stocking, in the woods ! It's no great 
matter, young gentleman, to be a great man among your inhabitants of cities — what I 
call umbrella people. Why, Natty was almost as great with the spear as with the 
rifle ; though I never heard that he got a sight of the sogdoUager." 

" We shall meet again this summer, commodore," said John Effingham ; " the 
ladies wish to hear the echoes, and we must leave you." 

"All very natural, Mr. John," returned the commodore, laughing, and again flour- 
ishing his hand in his own peculiar manner. " The women all love to hear the echoes, 
for they are not satisfied with what they have once said, but they like to hear it over 
again. I never knew a lady come on the Otsego, but one of the first things she did 
was to get paddled to the Speaking Rocks, to have a chat with herself. They come 
out in such numbers, sometimes, and then all talk at once, in a way quite to confuse 
the echo. I supjiose you have heard, young lady, the opinion people have now got 
concerning these voices." 

" I cannot say I have ever heard more than that they are some of the most perfect 
echoes known," answered Eve, turning her body so as to face the old man, as the skiff 
of the party passed that of the veteran fisherman. 

" Some people maintain that there is no echo at all, and that the sounds we hear 
come from the spirit of the Leather-stocking, which keeps about its old haunts, and 
repeats every thing we say. In mockery of our invasion of the woods. I do not say 
this notion is true, or that it is my own ; but we all know that Natty did dislike to see 
a new settler arrive in the moimtains, and that he loved a tree as a muskrat loves 
water. They show a pine up here, on the side of the Vision, which he notched at every 
new-comer, until, reaching seventeen, his honest old heart could go no farther, and he 
gave the matter up in despair." 

" This is so poetical, commodore, it is a pity it cannot be true. I like this ex- 



THE COMMODORE. 305 

planatiou of the ' Speaking Rocks' much better thau that imphed by the uame of 
' Fairy Spring.' " 

" You are quite right, young lady," called out the fisherman, as the boats separated 
BtOl further ; " there never was any fairy known in Otsego ; but the time has been 
when we could boast of a Natty Bumppo." 

Here the commodore flourished his hand again, and Eve nodded her adieus. The 
skiff of the party continued to pull slowly along the fringed shore, occasionally sheering 
more into the lake, to avoid some overhanging, and nearly horizontal tree, and then 
returning so closely to the land, as barely to clear the pebbles of the narrow strand 
with the oar. 

Eve thought she had never beheld a more wild or beautifully variegated foliage 
than that which the whole leafy moimtain-side presented. More than half of the forest 
of tall, solemn pines, that had veiled the earth when the country was first settled, had 
already disappeared ; but, agree.ably to one of the mysterious laws by which nature is 
governed, a rich second growth, that included nearly every variety of American wood, 
had shot up in their places. The rich, Rembrandt-like hemlocks, in particular, were 
perfectly beautiful, contrasting admirably with the livelier tints of the various deciduous 
trees. Here and there, some flowering shrub rendered the picture gay, while masses 
of the rich chestnut, in blossom, lay in clouds of natural glory among the dark tops of 
the pines. 

The gentlemen pulled the light skiflF fuUy a mile under the overhanging foliage, 
occasionally frightening some migratory bird from a branch, or a water-fowl from the 
narrow strand. At length, John Efiingham desired them to cease rowing, and, 
managing the skifi" for a minute or two with the paddle which he had used in steering, 
he desired the whole party to look up, amiouncing to them that they were beneath the 
" SUent Pine." 

A common exclamation of pleasure succeeded the upward glance ; for it is seldom 
that a tree is seen to more advantage thau that which immediately attracted every eye. 
The pine stood on the bank, -with its roots imbedded in the earth, a few feet higher 
than the level of the lake, but in such a situation as to bring the distance above the 
water into the apparent height of the tree. Like all of its kind that grow in the 
dense forests of America, its increase, for a thousand years, had been upward ; and it 
now stood in solitary glory — a memorial of what the mountains, which were yet so rich 
in vegetation, had really been in their days of nature and pride. For near a hundred 
feet above the eye, the even round trunk was branchless, and then commenced the 
dark green masses of foUage, which climg around the stem like smoke ascending in 
wreaths. The tall, column-like tree had inclined toward the light, when struggling 
among its fellows, and it now so far overhung the lake, that its summit may have been 
some ten or fifteen feet without the base. A gentle, graceful curve added to the effect 
of this variation from the perpendicular, and infused enough of the fearful into the 
39 ^ 



306 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

grand, to render the picture sublime. Although there was not a breath of wind on the 
lake, the currents were strong enough above the forest to move this lofty object, and 
it was just possible to detect a slight, graceful yielding of the very uppermost boughs 
to the passing air. 

"This pine is ill-named," cried Sir George Templemore ; " for it is the most eloquent 
tree eye of mine has ever looked on!" 

"It is, indeed, eloquent," answered Eve; "one hears it speak even now of the 
fierce storms that have whistled round its tops ; of the seasons that have passed since it 
extricated that verdant cap from the throng of sisters that grew beneath it ; and of all 
that has passed on the Otsego, when this limpid lake lay like a gem imbedded in the 
forest. When the Conqueror first landed in England, this tree stood on the spot where 
it now stands ! Here, then, is, at last, an American antiquity !" 

" A true and regulated ta.ste, Miss Effingham," said Paul, " has pointed out to you 
one of the real charms of the country. Were we to think less of the artificial, and 
more of our natural excellencies, we should render ourselves less liable to criticism." 

Eve was never inat entive when Paul spoke; and her color heightened, as he paid 
this compliment to her taste ; but stLU her soft blue eye was riveted on the pine. 

" Silent it may be, in one respect, but it is, indeed, all eloquence in another," she 
resumed, with a fervor that was not lessened by Paul's remark. " That crest of 
verdure, which resembles a plume of feathers, speaks of a thousand things to the 
imagination." 

" I have never known a person of any poetry, who came under this tree," said John 
Effingham, "that did not fall into this very train of thought. I once brought a man 
celebrated for his genius, here, and, after gazing for a minute or two at the high, green 
tuft that tops the tree, he exclaimed : ' That mass of green waved there in the fierce 
light when Columbus first ventured into the unknown sea.' It is, indeed, eloquent; 
for it tells the same glowing tale to all who approach it — a tale fraught with feeling and 
recollections." 

" And yet its silence is, after all, its eloquence," added Paul ; " and the name is not 
so misplaced as one might at first think." 

" It probably obtained its name from some fancied contrast to the garrulous rocks 
that lie up yonder, half-concealed by the forest. If you will ply the oars, gentlemen, 
we will now hold a little communion with the spirit of the Leather-stocking." 

The young men complied ; and, in about five minutes, the skiff was off in the lake, 
at the distance of fifty rods from the shore, where the whole mountain-side came at 
one glance into the view. Here they lay on their o.ars, and John Effingham called out 
to the rocks a " good morning," in a clear, distinct voice. The mocking sounds were 
thrown back again, with a closeness of resemblance that actually startled the novice. 
Then followed other calls, and other repetitions of the echoes, which did not lose the 
minutest intonation of the voice. 



THE COMMODORE. 307 

" This actually surpasses the celebrated echoes of the Rhine," cried the delighted 
Eve ; " for, though those do give the strains of the bugle so clearly, I do not think they 
ansvrer to the voice with so much fidelity." 

" You are very right, Eve," replied her kinsman ; " for I can recall no placo where 
so perfect and accurate an echo is to be heard as at these speaking rocks. By 
increasing our distance to half a niile, and using a bugle, as I well know, from actual 
experiment, we should get back entu-e passages of an air. The interval between the 
sound and the echo, too, would be distinct, and would give time for an undivided 
attention. Whatever may be said of the ' pine,' these rocks are most aptly named ; 
and if the spirit of Leather-stocking has any concern with the matter, he is a mocking 
spirit." 

John Efiingham now looked at his watch, and then he explained to the party a 
pleasure he had in store for them. On a sort of small, public promenade, that lav at 
the point where the ri\-er flowed out of the lake, stood a rude shell of a building that 
was called the " gun-house." Here, a speaking j)icture of the entire security of the 
country, from foes within as well as from foes without, were kept two or three pieces 
of field artillery, with doors so open that any one might enter the building, and even 
use the guns at will, although they properly belonged to the organized corps of the 
state. 

One of these guns had been sent a short distance down the valley ; and John 
Efiingham informed his companions that they might look momentarily for its reports 
to arouse the echoes of the mountains. He was still speaking when the gun was 
fired, its muzzle being turned eastward. The sound first reached the side of the 
Vision, abreast of the village, whence the reverberations reissued, and rolled along the 
range, from cave to cave, and cliff to clifl', and wood to wood, until they were lost, like 
distant thunder, two or three leagues to the northward. The experiment was thrice 
repeated, and always with the same magnificent efifect, the western hUls actually 
echoing the echoes of the eastern mountains, like the dying strains of some falling 
music. 





XVI 



THE PATHFINDER. 



In the year 1808, several young officers of the navy, nnder the command of 
Lieutenant AVoolsey, were ordered from New York to the shores of Lake Ontario, 
for the purpose of building a small vessel-of-war. Among these officers was Mr. 
Cooper, then a midshipman in the service. Their road beyond Utica lay for 
many a mile through the forest, the whole region to the northward of the 
Mohawk having scarcely yet thrown off the character of a wilderness. The 
mouth of the Oswego River was their destination ; here they remained for some 
time, until the Oneida, a brig mounting sixteen guns, was built and launched. 
Tlie whole pai-ty enjoyed extremely this marine campaign, with its wild coloring 
of frontier life, and none more so than the young midshipman from the Otsego 
Hills. During leisure hours, they roamed through the forest, or explored the 
shores of the lake. On one occasion they were ordered to Buffalo ; they went 
by land through what is now the heart of a populous country, but was then a 
wilderness. Tliey passed the site of future cities and towns, to be called into life 
from the depths of the forest only a very few years later. On one occasion they 
stopped for the night at a rude frontier inn. Mr. Cooper, who was acting as 
caterer for the party, inquired into the state of the larder. Mine host shook his 



THE PATHFINDER. 309 

head ruefully ; he could promise verj^ little ; had they come a few weeks earlier, 
he could have set before them as good a meal as ought to be expected in the 
woods ; but now matters were in a very bad way indeed. " Give us what you 
eat yourself; you must liave food of some kind in the house !" Mine host looked 
melancholy ; on liis honor he assured the young officers he had absolutely 
nothing to set before them but grouse, venison steak, and brook trout ; and 
maybe his wife could find cranberries for a tart ! A month earlier they should 
have had a dish of fried pork fit for the President, with a pumpkin-pie after it, 
but in the present state of things, they must not expect such delicacies. " Game's 
plenty, but nothin' else !" added the pixblican with a sigh. Mine host was pining 
for pork ! 

On this expedition Mr. Cooper saw Niagara for the first time. He was struck 
with the grandeur of the cataract ; but he felt its sublime character far more 
deeply at a later day, when visiting the same ground, after his return from 
Europe. "Wlien the brig was built and safely launched, the young officers gallantly 
resolved to give a ball. This was, in truth, an enterprise of a desperate character, 
under the circumstances ; building a brig hundreds of nules from a ship-yard was 
a trifle compared to the attempt to give a ball in the wilderness. True, one 
fiddle, and half a dozen officers, were something to open the ball with ; refresh- 
ments and a military ball-room might also be hoped for ; but where, pray, were 
the ladies to come from ? The officers declared they would not dance with each 
other. Ladies miist be found. No recruiting officers ever made more vigorous 
eflforts in behalf of the service, than Lieutenant Woolsey and his command on 
this occasion. At length, by dint of sending boats miles in one direction, and 
carts miles in another, the feat was accomplished ; ladies were invited, and ladies 
accepted. A difficulty suggested itself, however ; as the hour approached, a 
delicate point had to be decided, and that without the aid of any female coun- 
sellor. How, and by what rules, so many miles from a regular drawing-room, 
were the honors of the evening to be allotted among the diflferent claimants ? 
After a prolonged council of war, Mr. Woolsey took upon himself to decide the 
question ; he issued his orders to the Master of Ceremonies : " All ladies, sir, 
provided with shoes and stockings, are to be led to the head of the Virginia reel ; 
ladies with shoes, and without stockings, are considered in the second rank ; 
ladies without either shoes or stockings, you will lead, gentlemen, to the foot of 
the comitry-dauce !" Siich was a grand military ball in Oswego county, at that 
date. It may have been on this occasion that the servant of the mess, a raw 
youth, fresh from Ireland, made an absurd exhibition of what Mr. Cooper called 
the bull practical : a tablecloth had taken fire, and was in full blaze ; Paddy was 



310 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

at tlie moment filling a teapot from an ample kettle in his hand. " PoTir the 
water on the table !" called out one of the othcers. " Sure the wather is hot^ your 
honor !" exclaimed Paddy, in great dismay, holding the kettle at a very safe dis- 
tance from tlie blazing cloth, his face meanwhile exhibiting the most absurd ex- 
pression of the hull 2)hyswynom)j that coiild well be imagined. Mr. Cooper often 
laughed heartily at the very recollection of the jjoor fellow's countenance. 

Cruises among the Thousand Isles were very frequent, and in great favor 
with the young officers ; many were the fine fish caught in those waters, and 
many were the good chowders eaten thei'e. Tlie picturesque beauties of the 
region, the countless islands — all, then, in a wild condition — were greatly enjoyed, 
and )iever forgotten by one of the party at least. More than thirty years later, 
the young midshipman, now an experienced writer, determined that his next work 
of the imagination should be connected with that ground. The plan of the pro- 
posed book had been for some time in his mind ; he had wished to lay the scene 
of a tale on one of the great lakes, and to bring sailors and Indians into the 
same picture. To sketch forest scenes, without Natty, seemed scarcely natural 
for his pen ; the old Leather-stocking of " The Pioneers," Hawk-eye of " The 
Mohicans," the aged Trapper of " The Prairie," was again brought into view — 
the Pathfinder of the northern forests, and the shores of Lake Ontario. He now 
appears in the prime of life, and as a lover ! A very daring experiment, indeed. 
But how perfect the sxiccess! Few are the books in the English language more 
beautiful than "The Pathfinder" — few, indeed, which are, at the same time, so 
purely natural, and so highly poetical in spirit. It is a singularly equal book — 
the most so, perhaps, of all the works from the same author ; nor would it be easy 
to find the same number of pages from other pens, through which the current of 
feeling, of interest, of poetical imagination, flows so clearly, so easily, and so unin- 
terruptedly. The glow of life, pervading the book, is that of nature her very self; 
we seem to liear the ripple of tlie lake waves — the rustling of the forest leaves ; 
we seem actually to behold the islands, the schooner, and the skifl", with the human 
beings moving about them ; we can fancy that we have really looked into Mabel's 
eyes — that we have heard the low, sweet tones of June's voice. The characters 
are all purely natural — whether sailor or soldier, savage or hunter, the warrior 
or the young girl — all are good in their way ; nothing is overdrawn or labored, 
and yet many of the incidents are singularly striking and original. As for Natty — 
so simple, so tender, so true, so noble — what shall be said of him ? Ve must all 
needs love him : it is not with words, but with tears, that we wring his hand, and 
part from him, on the lake shore. 




ks 



\..' 



''// 



S^i^ 



NATTY A LOVER. 



The party that was to land, consisted of Serjeant Dunham, his daughter, and the 
Pathfinder. Accustomed to the canoe, Mabel took her seat in the centre with great 
steadiness, her father was placed in the bows, while the guide assumed the office of 
conductor, by steering in the stern. There was little need of impelling the canoe by 
means of the paddle, for the rollers sent it forward, at moments, with a violence that 
set every effort to govern its movements at defi.ance. More than once, ere the shore 
was reached, Mabel repented of her temerity, but Pathfinder encouraged her, and 
really manifested so much self-possession, coolness, and strength of arm himself, that 
even a female might have hesitated about owning all her apprehensions. Our heroine 
was no coward, and while she felt the novelty of her situation, in landing through a 
surf, she also experienced a fair proportion of its wild delight. At moments, indeed, 
her heart was in her month, as the bubble of a boat floated on the very crest of a 
foaming breaker, appearing to skim the water like a swallow, and then she flushed 
and laughed, as, left by the glancing element, they appeared to linger behind, as if 
ashamed of having been outdone in the headlong race. A few minutes sufficed for 
this excitement, for, though the distance between the cutter and the land con- 
siderably exceeded a quarter of a mUe, the intermediate space was passed in a very 
few minutes. 

On landing, the serjeant kissed his daughter kindly, for he was so much of a soldier 
as always to feel more at home on terra-firma than when afloat, and taking his gun, 
he announced his intention to pass an hour in quest of g.ame. 

" Pathfinder wUl remain near you, girl, and no doubt he will tell you some of the 
traditions of this part of the world, or some of his own experiences with the Mingos." 

The guide laughed, promised to have a care of Mabel, and in a few minutes the 



312 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

father had ascended a steep acclivity, and disappeared in the forest. The others took 
another direction, wliicli, after a few minutes of a sharp ascent also, lirought them to 
a small naked point on the promontory, where the eye overlooked an extensive and 
very peculiar panorama. Here jMaltel seated herself on a fragment of tallen rock, to 
recover her breath and strength, while lier companion, on whose sinews no personal 
exertion seemed to make any impression, stood at her side, leaning, in his own and 
not ungraceful manner, on his long rifle. Sever;d minutes passed, and neither spoke ; 
Mabel, in particular, being lost in admiration of the view. 

The position the two had obtained was sufliciently elevated to command a wide 
reach of the lake, which stretched away toward the north-east, in a boundless sheet, 
glittering beneath the rays of an afternoon's sun, and yet betraying the remains of 
that agitation which it lia<l endured while tossed by the late tempest. The land set 
bounds to its limits, in a huge crescent, disappearing in distance toward the south-east 
and the north. Far as the eye could reach, nothing but forest was visible — not even a 
solitary sign of ci\ilization Ijreaking in upon the uniform and grand magnificence of 
nature. The gale had driven the Scud beyond tlie line of those forts with which the 
French were then endeavoring to gird the English North American possessions ; for, 
following the channels of communication between the great lakes, their posts were on 
the banks of the Niagara, while our adventurers had reached a point many leagues 
westward of that celebrated strait. The cutter rode at single anchor, without the 
breakers, resembling some well-imagined and accurately-executed toy, that was in- 
tended rather for a glass-case than for the struggles with the elements which she had 
so lately gone through, while the canoe lay on the narrow beach, just out of reach of 
the waves that came l>ooming upon the land, a speck upon the shingles. 

"We are very far, here, from human habitations!" exclaimed Mabel, when, after a 
long and musuig survey of the scene, its principal peculiarities forced themselves on 
her active and ever-briUiant imagination ; " this is, indeed, being on a frontier !" 

" Have they more sightly scenes than this nearer the sea, and around their large 
towns ?" demanded Pathfinder, i\ath an interest he was apt to discover in such a 
subject. 

" I will not say that ; there is more to remind one of his fellow-beings there than 
here ; less, perhaps, to remind one of God." 

" Aye, Mabel, that is what my own feelings say. I am but a poor hunter, I know — 
untaught and imlarned — but God is as near me, in this my home, as he is near the king 
in his royal palace." 

" Who can doubt it ?" returned Mabel, looking from the view up into the hard- 
featured but honest face of her comjianion, though not without surprise at the energy 
of his manner — " One feels nearer to God, in such a spot, I think, than when the mind 
is distracted by the objects of the towns." 

" You say all I ^vish to say myself, Mabel, but in so much plainer speech, that you 



NATTY A LOVER. 313 

make nie ashamed of Avishing to let others know what I feel on such matters. I have 
coasted this lake, in search of skins, afore the war, and have been here already ; not at 
this very spot, for we landed yonder, where you may see the blasted oak that stands 
above the cluster of hemlocks" — 

" How, Pathfinder, can you remember all these trifles so accurately ?" 

" These are our streets and houses — our churches and palaces. Remember them, 
indeed ! I once made an appointment with the Big Sarpent, to meet at twelve o'clock 
at noon, near the foot of a certain pine, at the end of six months, when neither of us 
was within three hundred miles of the spot. The tree stood, and stands still, unless 
the judgment of Providence has lighted on that too, in the midst of the forest, fifty 
miles from any settlement, but in a most extraordinary neighborhood for beaver." 

" And did you meet at that very spot and hour ?" 

" Does the sun rise and set ? When I reached the tree, I found the Sarpent 
leaning against its trunk, with torn lesrgintrs and muddied moccasins. The Delaware 
had got into a swamp, and it worried him not a little to find his way o<it of it ; but, 
as the sun which comes over the eastern hills in the morning goes down behind the 
western at night, so was he true to time and place. No fear of Chingachgook when 
there is either a friend or an enemy in the case. He is equally sartain with each." 

" And where is the Delaware now ? — why is he not with us to-day ?" 

" He is scouting on the Mingo trail, where I ought to have been, too, but for a great 
human infirmity." 

" You seem above, beyond, superior to all infirmity. Pathfinder ; I never yet met 
with a man who apjseared to be so little liable to the weaknesses of nature." 

" If you mean in the way of health and strength, Mabel, Providence has been kind 
to me ; though I fancy the open air, long hunts, active scoutings, forest fare, and the 
sleep of a good conscience, may always keep the doctors at a distance. But I am 
human, after all ; yes, I find I'm very human, in some of my feelings." 

Mabel looked surprised, and it would be no more than delineating the character of 
her sex if we added that her sweet countenance expressed a good deal of curiosity, 
too, though her tongue was more discreet. 

" There is something bewitching in this wild life of yours. Pathfinder," she 
exclaimed, a tinge of enthusiasm mantling her cheeks. " I find I'm fost getting to be 
a frontier girl, and am coming to love all this grand silence of the woods. The towns 
seem tame to me, and, as ni^- father will probably pass the remainder of his days here, 
where he has already lived so long, I begin to feel that I should be happy to continue 
with him, and not to return to the sea-shore." 

" The woods are never silent, Mabel, to such as understand their meaning. Days 
at a time have I travelled them alone, without feeling the want of company ; and, as 
for conversation, for such as can comprehend their language, there is no want of 
rational and instructive discourse." 
40 



314 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

" I believe you are happier when alone, Pathfinder, than when minghng with your 
fellow-creatures." 

" I will not say that — I will not say exactly that ! I have seen the time when I have 
thought that God was sufficient for me in the forest, and that I craved no more than 
his bounty and his care. But other feelings have got uppermost, and I suppose natun 
will have its way. All other creaturs mate, Mabel, and it was intended man should do 
so, too." 

" And have you never bethought you of seeking a wife. Pathfinder, to share your 
fortunes ?" inquired the girl, with the directness and simplicity that the pure of heart 
and the undesigning are the most apt to manifest, and with that feeling of affection 
whicli is inbred in her sex. " To me, it seems you only want a home to return to, 
from your wanderings, to render your life completely happy. Were I a man, it would 
be my delight to roam through these forests at will, or to sail over this beautiful 
lake." 

" I imderstand you, Mabel ; and God bless you for thinking of the welfare of men 
as humble as we are. We have our pleasures, it is true, as well as our gifts, but we 
might be happier ; yes, I do think we might be happier." 

" Happier ! in what way, Pathfinder ? In this pure air, with these cool and shaded 
forests to wander through, this lovely lake to gaze at and sail upon, with clear con- 
sciences, and abundance for all the real wants, men ought to be nothing less than as 
perfectly happy as their infirmities will allow." 

" Every creatur' has its gifts, Mabel, and men have theirs," answered the guide, 
looking stealthily at his beautiful companion, whose cheeks had flushed and eyes bright- 
ened under the ardor of feelings excited by the novelty of her striking situation ; " and 
all must obey them. Do you see yonder pigeon that is just alightin' on the beach — 
here in a line with the fallen chestnut ?" 

" Certainly ; it is the only thing stirring, with life in it, besides ourselves, that is to 
be seen in this vast solitude." 

" Not so, Mabel, not so ; Providence makes nothing that lives, to live quite alone. 
Here is its mate, just rising on the wing ; it has been feeding near the other beech, but 
it will not long be separated from its companion." 

" I understand you. Pathfinder," returned Mabel, smiling sweetly, though as calmly 
as if the discourse was with her father. " But a hunter may find a mate, even in this 
wild region. The Indian girls are afiectionate and true, I know, for such was the wife 
of Arrowhead to a husband who oftener frowned than smiled." 

" That would never do, Mabel, and good would never come of it. Kind must cling 
to kind, and country to country, if one would find happiness. If, indeed, I could meet 
with one Hke you, who would consent to be a hunter's wife, and who would not scorn 
my ignorance and rudeness, then, indeed, would all the toil of the past appear like the 
sporting of the young deer, and all the future like sunshine!" 




'\WliEyii th'' hn<t? if ;)e3i:^Biji l>viivliaTn. iwhi-cii was prnpped 
a^aiiislit ieHpaitly within the hlock To Ara.v in thelefis and 
secure €ie faatenmtf^a. occapieil ■fhc Piiilifinder Irat a-momeut . 



HRyir V13RK. 



' A TfrwtiaK!n> ». CO 



NATTY A LOVER. 3I5 

" One like me ! A girl of my years and indiscretion would hardly make a fit com- 
panion for the boldest scout and surest hunter on the lines !" 

" Ah, Mabel ! I fear me, that I have been improving a redskin's gifts with a pale- 
face's natur' ! Such a character would insure a wife in an Indian village." 

" Surely, surely, Pathfinder, you would not think of choosing one as ignorant, as 
frivolous, as vain, and as inexperienced as I, for your wife !" Mabel would have added, 
" and as young," but an instinctive feeling of delicacy repressed the words. 

" And why not, Mabel ? If you are ignorant of frontier usages, you know more than 
all of us of pleasant anecdotes and town customs ; as for frivolous, I know not what it 
means, but if it signifies beauty, ah's me ! I fear it is no fault in my eyes. Vain you are 
not, as is seen by the kind manner in wliieh you listen to all my idle tales about scoutings 
and trails ; and as for experience, that will come with years. Besides, Mabel, I fear 
men think little of these matters when they are about to take wives ; I do." 

" Pathfinder — your words — your looks — surely all this is meant in trifling — you speak 
in pleasantry !" 

" To me it is always agreeable to be near you, Mabel, and I should sleep sounder 
this blessed night than I have done for a week past, could I think that you find such 
discourse as pleasant as I do." 

We shall not say that Mabel Dunham had not believed herself a favorite with the 
guide. This, her quick, feminine sagacity had early discovered, and perhaps she had 
occasionally thought there had mingled with his regard and friendship, some of that 
manly tenderness which the ruder sex must be coarse indeed not to show, on occasions, 
to the gentler ; but the idea that he seriously sought her for his wife had never before 
crossed the mind of the spirited and ingenuous girl. Now, however, a gleam of some- 
thing like the truth broke in upon her imagination, less induced by the words of her 
companion, perhaps, than by his manner. Looking earnestly into the rugged, honest 
countenance of the scout, Mabel's own features became concerned and grave, and when 
she spoke again, it was with a gentleness of manner that attracted him to her, even 
more powerfidly than the words themselves were calculated to repel. 

" You and I should understand each other. Pathfinder," she said, with an earnest 
sincerity ; " nor should there be any cloud between us. You are too upright and frank 
to meet with any thing but sincerity and frankness in return. Surely — surely, all this 
means nothing — has no other connection with your feelings than such a friendship as 
one of your wisdom and character would naturally feel for a girl like me." 

" I believe it's all nat'ral, Mabel ; yes, I do ; the sarjeant tells me he had such 
feelings toward your own mother, and I think I've seen something like it in the young 
people I have, from time to time, guided through the wilderness. Yes, yes- — I dare say 
it's all nat'ral enough, and that makes it come so easy, and is a great comfort to me." 

"Pathfinder, your words make me uneasy! Speak plainer, or change the subject 
forever. You do not — cannot mean that— you — cannot wish me to understand" — 



31(5 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

even the tongue of the spirited Mabel faltered, and she shrunk, with maiden shame, 
from adding what she wislied so earnestly to say. Rallying her courage, however, and 
determined to know all as soon and as j)lainly as possible, after a iiioment's hesitation, 
she continued — "I mean. Pathfinder, that you do not wish me to imderstand that you 
seriously think of me as a wife ?" 

" I do, Mabel ; that's it — that's just it, and you liave put the matter in a much better 
point of view than I, ^^■itll my forest gifts and frontier ways, woiUd ever be able to do. 
The sarjeant and I have concluded on the matter, if it is agreeable to you, as he thinks 
is likely to be the case, though I doubt my own power to jjlease one who deserves the 
best husband America can produce."' 

Mabel's countenance changed from uneasiness to surprise, and then, by a transition 
still quicker, from surprise to pain. 

"My father!" she exclaimed. "My dear father lias thought of my becoming your 
wife, Pathfinder !" 

" Yes, he has, Mabel ; he has, indeed. He has even thought such a thing might be 
agreeable to you, and has almost encouraged me to foney it might be true." 

" But you, yourself — you certainly can care nothing whether this singular expectation 
shall ever be realized or not ?" 

"Anan?" 

" I mean. Pathfinder, that you have talked of this match more to oblige my father 
than any thing else ; that your feelings are no way concerned, let my answer be what 
it may." 

The scout looked earnestly into the beautiful face of M.abel, which had flushed with 
the ardor and novelty of her sensations, and it Vt'as not possible to mistake the intense 
feeling that betrayed itself in every lineament of his ingenuous countenance. 

" I have often thought myself happy, Mabel, when ranging the woods on a success- 
ful hunt, breathing the pure air of the hills, and filled with vigor and health ; but I now 
know that it has all been idleness and vanity compared with the delight it would give 
me to know that you thought better of me than you think of most others." 

" Better of you ! I do indeed think better of you. Pathfinder, than of most others ; 
I am not certain that I do not think better of you th.an of any other — for your truth, 
honesty, simplicity, justice, and courage, are scarcely equalled by any oi' earth." 

" Ah ! Mabel ! these are sweet and encouraging Avords from you, and tlie sarjeant, 
after all, was not as near wrong as I feared." 

"N.ay, Pathfinder — in the name of all that is sacred and just, do not let us misun- 
derstand each other, in a matter of so much importance. While I esteem, respect — 
nay, reverence you almost as much as I reverence my own dear father, it is impossible 
that I should ever become your wife — that I " — 

The change in her companion's countenance was so sudden and so great, that the 
moment the effect of what she had uttered became visible in the face of the Path- 



N A T T Y A L O V E R . 317 

finder, Mabel arrested her own words, notwithstanding her strong desire to be explicit ; 
the reluctance with which she could at any time cause pain being sufficient of itself to 
induce the pause. Neither spoke for some time, the shade of disappointment that 
crossed the rugged lineaments of the hunter, amounting so nearly to anguish as to 
frighten his companion, while the sensation of choking became so strong in the 
Pathfinder, that he faii-ly griped his throat, like one who sought physical relief for 
physical sufiTering. The convulsive maimer in which his fingers worked actually struck 
the alarmed girl with a feeling of awe. 

" Nay, Pathfinder," Mabel eagerly added, the instant she could command her 
voice — ■" I ma J' have said more than I mean, for all things of this nature are possible, 
and women, they say, are never sure of their own minds. What I wish you to under- 
stand is, that it is not likely that vou and I should ever think of each other as man 
and wife ought to think of each other." 

" I do not — I shall never think in that way again, Mabel," gasped forth the Path- 
finder, who appeared to utter his words like one just raised above the pressure of 
some suffocathig substance. " No — no — I shall never think of you, or any one else, 
again in that way." 

" Pathfinder — dear Pathfinder — understand me — do not attach more meaning to 
my words than I do myself — a match like that would be unwise — unnatural, perhaps." 

" Yes, unnat'ral — ag'in natur' ; and so I told the sarjeant, but he would have it 
otherwise." 

" Pathfinder ! — Oh ! this is worse than I could have imagined — take my hand, 
excellent Pathfinder, and let me see that you do not hate me. For God's sake smile 
upon me again !" 

" Hate you, Mabel ! Smile upon you .' Ah's me I" 

" Nay, give me your hand ; your hardy, true, and manly hand — both, both. Path- 
finder, for I shall not be easy until I feel certain that we are friends again, and that 
all this has been a mistake." 

"Mabel," said the guide, looking wistfully into the fiice of the generous and im- 
petuous girl, as she held his two hard and sunburnt hands in her own pretty and 
delicate fingers, and laugliing in his own silent and peculiar manner, while anguish 
gleamed over lineaments which seemed incapable of deception, even while agitated 
with emotions so conflicting — " Mabel, the sarjeant was wrong !" 

The j)ent-up feelings could endure no more, and the tears rolled down the cheeks 
of the scout like rain. His fingers again worked convulsively at his throat, and his 
breast heaved, as if it jiossessed a tenant of which it would be rid, by any eftbrt, how- 
ever desperate. 

" Pathfinder ! — Pathfinder !" Mabel almost shrieked — " any thing but this — any 
thing but this. Speak to me. Pathfinder — smile again — say one kind word — any thing 
to prove you can forgive me." 



318 PAGESANDPICTURES. 

" The sarjeant was wrong," exclaimed the guide, laughing amid his agony, in a way 
to terriiy his companion by the unnatural mixture of anguish and light-heartedness. 
" I knew it — I knew it, and said it ; yes, the sarjeant was wrong, after all." 

" We can be friends, though we cannot be man and wife," continued Mabel, almost 
as much disturbed as her companion, scarce knowing what she said ; "we can always 
be friends, and always will." 

" I thought the sarjeant was mistaken," resumed the Pathfinder, when a great 
effort had enabled him to command himself, " for I did not think my gifts were such 
as would please the fancy of a town-bred girl. It woulil liave been better, Mabel, had 
he not over-persuaded me into a different notion ; and it might have been better, too, 
had you not been so pleasant and confiding, like ; yes, it would." 

" If I thought any error of mine had raised false expectations in you. Pathfinder, 
however unintentionally on my part, I should never forgive myself; for, believe me, I 
would rather endure pain in my own feelings, than you should suffer." 

" Tliat's just it, Mabel ; that's just it. These speeches and opinions, spoken in so 
soft a voice, and in a way I'm so unused to in the woods, have done the mischief But 
I now see plainly, and begin to understand the difference between us better, and wiU 
strive to keep down thought, and to go abroad again as I used to do, looking for the 
game and the inimy. Ah's me ! Mabel, I have, indeed, been on a false trail, since we 
met !" 

" But you will now travel on the true one. In a little whUe you will forget all this, 
and think of me as a friend, who owes you her life." 

"This may be the way in the towns, but I doubt if it's nat'ral to the woods. With 
us, when the eye sees a lovely sight, it is apt to keep it long in view; or when the mind 
takes in an upright and proper feeling, it is loth to part with it." 

" But it is not a proper feeling that you should love me, nor am I a lovely sight. 
You will forget it all, when you come seriously to recollect that I am altogether unsuited 
to be your wife." 

" So I told the sarjeant — but he would have it otherwise. I knew you was too 
young and beautiful for one of middle age, like myself, and who never was comely to 
look at, even in youth ; and then your ways have not been my ways, nor would a 
hunter's cabin be a fitting place for one who was edicated among chiefs, as it were. 
If I were younger and comelier, though, like Jasper Eau-douce" — 

" Never mind Jasper Eau-douce," interrupted Mabel, impatiently ; " we can talk of 
something else." 

" Jasper is a worthy lad, Mabel ; aye, and a comely," returned the guileless guide, 
looking earnestly at the girl, as if he distrusted her judgment in speaking slightingly 
of his friend. " Were I only half as comely as Jasper Western, my misgivings in this 
affair would not have been so great, and they might not have been so true." 

" We will not talk of Jasper Western," repeated Mabel, the color mounting to her 



THEPATUFIXDER. 3J9 

temples — " he may be good enough in a gale, or on the lake, but he is not good enough 
to talk of here." 

" I fear me, Mabel, he is better than the man who is likely to be your husband, 
though the sarjeant says that never can take place. But the sarjeant was wrong once, 
and he may be wrong twice." 

" And who is likely to be my husband, Pathfinder ? This is scarcely less strange 
than what has just passed between us!" 

" I know it is nat'ral for like to seek like, and for them that have consorted much 
with officers' ladies, to wish to be officers' ladies themselves. But, Mabel, I may speak 
plainly to you, I know, and I hope my words will not give you })ain, for, now I under- 
stand what it is to be disappointed in such feelings, I wouldn't wish to cause even a 
Mingo sorrow, on this head. But happiness is not always to be found in a marquee, 
any more than in a tent, and though the officers' quarters may look more tempting than 
the rest of the barracks, there is often great misery, between husband and wife, inside 
of their doors." 

" I do not doubt it, in the least. Pathfinder ; and did it rest with me to decide, I 
would sooner follow you to some cabin in the woods, and share your fortune, whether 
it might be better or worse, thau go inside the door of any officer I know, with an in- 
tention of remaining there as its master's wife !" 

" Mabel, this is not what Lundie hopes, or Lundie thinks !" 

" And what care I for Lundie ? He is major of the 55th, and may command his 
men to wheel and march about as he pleases, but he cannot compel me to wed the 
greatest or the meanest of his mess : besides, what can you know of Lundie's ^^^shes 
on such a subject ?" 

" From Lundie's own mouth. The sarjeant had told him that he wished me for 
a son-in-law ; and the major, being an old and a true friend, conversed with me on the 
subject ; he put it to me, plainly, whether it would not be more ginerous in me to let 
an officer succeed, than to strive to make you share a hunter's fortune. I owned the 
truth, I did ; and that was, that I thought it might ; but when he told me that the 
quarter-master would be his choice, I would not abide bv the conditions. No — no — 
Mabel ; I know Davy Muir well, and though he may make you a lady, he can never 
make you a happy woman, or himself a gentleman. I say this honestly, I do ; for I 
now plainly see that the sarjeant has been wrong." 

"■My father has been very wrong if he has said or done aught to cause you sorrow. 
Pathfinder; and so great is my respect for you, so smcere my friendship, that were it 
not for one — I mean that no person need fear Lieutenant Muir's influence with me. I 
would rather remain as I am, to my dying day, than become a lady at the cost of being 
his wife." 

" I do not think you would say that which you do not feel, Mabel," returned Path- 
finder, earnestly. 



320 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

" Not at such a moment, on such ,a subject, and least of all to you. No ; Lieutenant 
Muir may lind wives where he can — my name shall never be on his catalogue." 

" Thank you — thank you for that, Mabel ; for, though there is no longer any hope 
for me, I could never be happy were you to take to the quarter-master. I feared the 
commission might count for something, I did, and I know the man. It is not jealousy 
that makes me speak in this manner, but truth, for I know the man. Now, were you 
to fancy a desarving youth, one like Jasper Western, for instance" — 

" Why always mention Jasper Eau-douce, Pathfinder ? he can have no concern with 
our frieudshijj ; let us talk of yourself, and of the manner in which you intend to pass 
the winter." 

" Ah's me ! — ^Fm little worth at the best, Mabel, unless it may be on a trail, or with 
the ride ; and less worth now that I've discovered the sarjeant's mistake. There is no 
need, therefore, of talking of me. It has been very pleasant to me to be near you so 
long, and even to fancy that the sarjeant was right; but that is all over now. I shall 
go down the lake with Jasper, and then there will be business to occupy us, and that 
will keep useless thoughts out of the mind." 

" And you ^vill forget this — forget me — no, not forget me, either. Pathfinder ; but 
you will resume your old pursuits, and cease to think a girl of sufficient importance to 
disturb your peace ?" 

" I never know'd it afore, Mabel, but girls, as you call them, though gals is the 
name I've been taught to use, are of more account in this life than I could have believed. 
Now, afore I know'd you, the new-born babe did not sleep more sweetly than I used to 
could ; my head was no sooner on the root, or the stone, or mayhap on the skin, than 
all was lost to the senses, unless it might be to go over, in the night, the business of the 
day, in a dream, like ; and there I lay till the moment came to be stirring, and the 
swallows wore not more certain to be on the wing, with the light, than I to be afoot, 
at the moment I wished to be. All this seemed a gift, and might be calculated on, 
even in the midst of a Mingo camp; fir I've been outlying, in my time, in the very 
villaores of the vagabonds." 

" And all this will return to you, Pathfinder ; for one so upright and sincere will 
never waste his hap])iuess on a mere fancy. You will dream again of your hunts, of the 
deer you have slain, and of the beaver j'ou have taken." 

" Ah's me, Mabel, I wish never to dream again ! Before we met, I had a sort of 
pleasure in following up the hounds, in fancy, as it might be ; and even in striking a trail 
of the Iroquois — nay, I've been in skrimmages and ambushments, in thought, like, and 
found satisfaction in it, according to my gifts ; but all those things have lost their charms 
since I've made accjuaintance with you. Now, I think no longer of any thing rude in 
my dreams, but the very last night we stai<l in the garrison, I imagined I had a cabin 
in a grove of sugar-maples, and at the root of every tree was a ilabel Dunham, while 
the birds that were among the br.anches sung ballads, instead of the notes that natur' 



NATTY A LOVER. 



321 



gave, aud even the Jeer stopped to listen. I tried to shoot a fa'an, but Killdeer missed 
fire, and the creatur' laughed in my face, as pleasantly as a young girl laughs in her 
merriment, and then it bounded away, looking back, as if it expected me to follow." 

" No more of this, Pathfinder — we'll talk no more of these things,"' said Mabel, 
dashing the tears from her eyes; for the simple, earnest manner in which this hardy 
woodsman betrayed the deep hold she had taken of his feelings, nearly proved too 
much for her own generous heart. " Now, let us look for my father ; he cannot be 
distant, as I heard his gtm quite near." 

"The sarjeant was wrong — yes, he was wrong, and it's of no avail to attempt to 
make the dove consort with the wolf." 

" Here comes my dear father," interrupted Mabel ; " let us look cheerful and happy, 
Pathfinder, as such good friends ought to look, and keep each other's secrets." 

A pause succeeded ; the Serjeant's foot was heard crushing the dried twigs hard by, 
and then his form appeared, shoving aside the bushes of a copse, quite near. As he 
issued into the open ground, the old soldier scrutinized his daughter and her com- 
panion, and, speaking good-naturedly, he said — 

" Mabel, child, you are young and light of foot — look for a bird Pve shot, that fell 
just beyond the thicket of young hemlocks, on the shore; and, as Jasper is showing 
signs of an intention of getting under way, you need not take the trouble to clamber 
up this hill again, but we will meet you on the beach in a few minutes." 

Mabel obeyed, bounding down the hill with the elastic step of youth and health. 
But, notwithstanding the lightness of her steps, the heart of the girl was heavy, and no 
sooner was she hid from observation by the thicket, than she threw herself on the root 
of a tree, and wept as if her heart would break. 
41 





LAKE OTSEGO FROM \VlTCnnAZEL POINT. 

XVII. 

THE DEERSLAYER. 



One pleasant summer evening the antlior of tlie Pathfinder was driving along 
the lake shore in his farm wagon, singing cheerily, as he passed over that quiet, 
shady road, as he frequently did. Though no musician, he often sang — when in 
a gay mood — snatches of familiar songs which had struck his fancy ; and many 
a time, when driving along the quiet, shady road leading to his mountain-farm, 
the squirrel at play, or the sleepy teamster, dozing on his seat, has been surprised 
by some sudden biirst of Burns' " Scots wha lia' wi' Wallace bled !" or Moore's 
" Love's Young Dream" — always esj^ecial favorites with him. On the present 
occasion, however, it was a political song that he was singing ; and, shall we avow 
the act of iniidelity, an electioneering song of the party opposed to his own ! 
Suddenly he paused, as an opening in the wood revealed a sweet view of the 
lake. His spirited gray eye rested a moment on the water, with that expression 
of abstracted, poetical thought, ever familiar to those who lived with him ; then, 
turning to the companion at his side — the daughter now writing these lines — he 
exclaimed: "I must write one more book, dearie, about our little lake!" Again 
his eye rested on the water and the banks, with the far-seeing look of one evoking 



THE DEKBSLAYER. 



323 



imaginary ligiu-es to till the beautiful sceue. A moment of silence followed — his 
daughter being unwilling to interrupt the train of thought opening before him ; 
a few minutes passed — again he cracked his wliip, resumed his song, with some 
careless chat on little hicidents of the hour, and drove homeward. A few days 
later the first pages of the Deerslayer were written. 

During many a long year had Xatty now been, as it were, a constant com- 
panion of the writer : in four different works the Leather-stocking had been 
brought before the public ; and very many were the hours, no doubt, in which 
the author held communion with this creature of his imagination in scenes never 
recorded. Reversing the usual order, when himself a young man, he had first 
brought the hnnter into view at the age of threescore and ten; now, when his own 
head was growing hoary, he brings Natty before the reader as a youth — he leads 
us over the first w^ar-path of his hero. And the same lake shores on which that 
striking figure had first appeared, are again chosen for the closing work of the 
series, as the scene of Xatty's earlier pi-owess in the hunt and in war. We are 
made to look backward at the highland lake ; to behold it in its native aspect, 
when, a hundred years earlier, no building of the white man was yet reflected 
from its banks ; when, girt to the veiy water's edge with forests, the growth of 
ages, the eye of the savage and the hunter had alone beheld its sylvan beauty. 
With singular fertility of invention, a train of appropriate and very original 
incident — full of spirit, of feeling, of interest — is woven about the shores, and over 
the very bosom of the little lake. Muskrat Castle, and the Ark of Floating Tom, 
with the Indian canoe, give a strange, wild interest to the picture ; while the well- 
drawn characters of Judith, beautiful, but designing — of simple-hearted Hetty, 
touchingly innocent and artless — give the lighter and sweeter touches to scenes 
which were otherwise whollv wild. 



.<^lQIZ3!=s. 





WILD ROSE POIKT. 



THE EESCUE OF HIST. 

Chingachgook and his pale-face friend set forth on their hazardous and delicate en- 
terprise with a coohiess and method that would have done credit to men who were on 
their twentieth, instead of being on their first war-jjath. As suited his relation to the 
pretty fugitive in whose service they were engaged, the Indian took his place in the 
head of the canoe ; while Deerslayer guided its movements in the stern. By this ar- 
rangement, the former would be the first to land, and, of course, the first to meet his 
mistress. The latter had taken his post without comment, but in secret influenced by 
the reflection that one who had so much at stake as the Indian, might not possibly guide 
the canoe with the same steadiness and intelligence as another who had more command 
of his feelings. From the instant they left the side of the ark, the movements of the two 
adventurers were like the manoeuvres of highly-drilled soldiers, who, for the first time, 
were called on to meet the enemy iu the field. As yet, Chingachgook had never fired 
a shot in anger, and the dihut of his companion in warfiire is known to the reader. 
It is true, the Indian had been hanging about his enemy's camp for a few hours, on his 
first arrival, and he had even once entered it, as related in the last chapter, but no con- 
sequences had followed either experiment. Now, it was certain that an important 
result was to be effected, or a mortifying failure was to ensue. The rescue, or the 
continued captivity of Hist, depended on the enterprise. In a word, it was virtually 
the maiden expedition of these two ambitious young forest soldiers; and, while one of 
them set forth, impelled by sentiments that usually carry men so far, both had all their 
feelings of pride and manhood enlisted in their success. 



THE RESCUE OF HIST. 325 

Instead of steering in a direct line to the point, then distant from the ark less than 
a quarter of a mile, Deerslayer laid the head of his canoe diagonally toward the centre 
of the lake, with a view to obtain a position, from which he might approach the shore, 
having his enemies in his front only. The spot where Hetty had lantled, and where 
Hist had promised to meet them, moreover, was ou the upper side of the projection, 
rather than on the lower ; and, to reach it, would have required the adventurers to 
double nearly the whole point close in with the shore, had not this preliminary 
step been taken. So well was the necessity for this measure understood, that Cbin- 
gachgook quietly paddled on, although it was adopted without consulting him, and ap- 
parently was taking him in a direction nearly opposite to that in which, one might think, 
he most wished to go. A few minutes sufficed, however, to carry the canoe the neces- 
sary distance, when both the young men ceased paddling, as it were, by mstinctive 
consent, and the boat became stationary. 

The darkness increased rather than diminished ; but it was still possible, from the 
place where the adventurers lay, to distinguish the outlines of the mountains. In vain 
did the Delaware turn his head eastward, to catch a glimpse of the promised star ; for, 
notwithstanding the clouds broke a little near the horizon, in that quarter of the 
heavens, the curtain continued so far drawn as etfectually to conceal all behiiiJl it. In 
front, as was known by the formation of land above and behind it, lay the point, at a 
distance of about a thousand feet. No signs of the castle could be seen, nor could any 
movement in tliat quarter of the lake reach the ear. The latter circumstance might 
have been equally owing to the distance, which was several miles, or to the fact that 
nothing was in motion. As for the ark, though scarcely further from the canoe than 
the point, it lay so completel}' buried in the shadows of the shore, that it would not 
have been visible even had there been many degrees more of light than actually 
existed. 

The adventurers now held a conference in low voices, consulting together as to the 
probable time. Deerslayer thought it wanted yet some minutes to the rising of the 
star, while the impatience of the chief caused him to fancy the night further advanced, 
and to believe that his betrothed was already awaiting his appearance on the shore. As 
m.ight have been expected, the opinion of the latter prevailed, and his friend disposed 
himself to steer for the place of rendezvous. The utmost skill and precaution now 
became necessary in the management of the canoe. The paddles were lifted and re- 
turned to the water in a noiseless manner ; and when within a hundred yards of the 
beach, Chingachgook took in his altogether, laying his hand on his rifle instead. As 
they got still more within the belt of darkness that girded the woods, it was seen that 
they were steering too far north, and the course was altered accordingly. The canoe 
now seemed to move by instinct, so cautious and deliberate were all its motions. Still 
it continued to advance, until its bows grated on the gravel of the beach, at the precise 
spot where Hetty had landed, and whence her voice had issued, the previous night, as 



326 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

the ark was passing. There was, as usual, a uarrow strand, but bushes fiinged the 
woods, and hi most places overhung the water. 

Chingachgook stepped ujjon the beach, and cautiously examined it for some distance 
on each side of the canoe. In order to do this he was often obliged to wade to his 
knees in the lake, but no Hist rewarded his search. When he returned he found his 
friend also on tlie shore. They next conferred in whispers, the Indian apprehending 
tliat they must have mistaken the place of rendezvous. But Deerslayer thought it was 
probable they had mistaken the hour. While he was yet speaking, he grasped the 
arm of the Delaware, caused him to turn liis head in the direction of the lake, and 
jDointed toward the summits of the eastern mountains. The clouds had broken a Uttle, 
apparently behind rather than above the hUls, and the selected star was glittering 
among the branches of a pine. This was every way a flattering omen, and the young 
men leaned on their rifles, Ustening intently for the sound of approaching footsteps. 
Voices they often heard, and muigled with them were the suppressed cries of children, 
and the low but sweet laugh of Indian women. As the native Americans are habitually 
cautious, and seldom break out in loud conversation, the adventurers knew by these 
facts, that they must be very near the encampment. It was easy to perceive that 
there v, .is a fire within the woods, by the manner in wliich some of the upper branches 
of the trees were illuminated ; but it was not possible, where they stood, to ascertain 
exactly how near it was to themselves. Once or twice it seemed as if stragglers from 
around the fire were approachmg the place of rendezvous; but these soimds were 
either altogether illusion, or those who had drawn near returned again A\ithout 
coming to the shore. A quarter of an hour was passed in this state of iutense expec- 
tation and anxiety, when Deerslayer proposed that they should circle the point in the 
canoe ; and, by getting a position close in, where the camp could be seen, reconnoitre 
the Indians, and thus enable themselves to form some plausible conjectures for the 
non-appearance of Hist. The Delaware, however, resolutely refused to quit the spot, 
reasonably enough oflfering as a reason the disappointment of the girl should she arrive 
in his absence. Deerslayer felt for his friend's concern, and offered to make the circuit 
of the pomt by himself, leaving the latter concealed in the bushes to await the occur- 
rence of any fortunate event that might favor his views. With this understanding, 
then, the parties separated. 

As soon as Deerslayer was at his post again, in the stern of the canoe, he left the 
shore with the same precautions, and in the same noiseless manner, as he had ap- 
proached it. On this occasion he did not go far from the land, the bushes afibrdmg a 
sufiicient cover, by keeping as close in as possible. Indeed, it would not have been 
easy to devise any means more favorable to reconnoitring round an Indian camp than 
those afforded by the actual state of things. The formation of the point permitted the 
place to be circled on three of its sides, and the progress of the boat was so noiseless as 
to remove any apprehensions from an alarm through sound. The most practiced and 



THE RESCUE OF HIST. 327 

guarded foot might stir a bimcli of leaves, or snap a dried stick in the dark, but a bark 
canoe could be made to float over the surface of smooth water, almost with the instinc- 
tive readiness, and certainly with the noiseless movements of an aquatic bird. 

Deerslayer had got nearly in a line between the camp and the ark before he caught 
a glimpse of the fire. This came upon him suddenly, and a little unexpectedly, at 
first causing an alarm, lest he had incautiously ventured within the circle of light it 
cast. But, perceiving at a second glance, that he was certainly safe from detection so 
long as the Indians kept near the centre of the illumination, he brought the canoe to a 
state of rest, in the most favorable position he could find, and commenced his ob- 
servations. 

We have written much, but in vain, concerning this extraordinary being, if the 
reader requires now to be told, that, imtutored as he was in the learning of the world, 
and simple as he ever showed himself to be in all matters touching the subtleties of 
conventional taste, he was a man of strong, native, poetical feeling. He loved the 
woods for their freshness, their sublime solitudes, their vastness, and the impress 
that they everywhere bore of the diraie hand of their Creator. He seldom moved 
through them without jiausing to dwell on some peculiar beauty that gave him 
pleasure, though rarely attempting to investigate the causes ; and never did a day 
pass without his commiuiing in spirit — and this, too, without the aid of forms or lan- 
guage — with the infinite source of all he saw, felt, and beheld. Thus constituted in a 
moral sense, and of a steadiness that no danger could appal, or any crisis disturb, it is 
not surprising that the hunter felt a pleasure in looking on the scene he now beheld, 
that momentarily caused him to forget the object of his visit. This will more fully 
appear when we describe the scene. 

The canoe lay in front of a natural vista, not only through the bushes that Uned the 
shore, but of the trees, also, that afforded a clear view of the camp. It was by means 
of this same opening that the light had been first seen from the ark. In consequence 
of their recent change of ground, the Indians had not yet retired to their huts, but 
had been delayed by their preparations, which included lodging as well as food. A 
large fire had been made, as much to answer the purpose of torches, as for the use of 
their simple cookery ; and at this precise moment it was blazing high and bright, 
having recently received a large supply of dried brush. The eflect was to illuminate 
the arches of the forest, and to render the whole area occupied by the camp as light 
as if hundreds of tapers were burning. Most of the toU had ceased, and even the 
hungriest child had satisfied its appetite. In a word, the time was that moment of 
relaxation and general indolence which is apt to succeed a hearty meal, and when the 
labors of the day have ended. The hunters and the fishermen had been equally suc- 
cessful ; and food — that one great requisite of savage life — being abundant, every other 
care appeared to have subsided in the sense of enjoyment dependent on this all- 
important fact. 



328 PAGES AND PIC TURKS. 

Deerslayer saw at a glance that many of the warriors were absent. His acquaint- 
ance, Rivenoak, however, was present, being seated in the foreground of a picture that 
Salvator Rosa would liave delighted to draw, his swarthy features illuminated as much 
by pleasure, as by the torch-like flame, while he showed another of the tribe one of 
the elephants that had caused so much sensation among his people. A boy was looking 
over his shoulder, in dull curiosity, completing the group. More in the background, 
eight or ten warriors lay half recumbent on the ground, or sat with their backs 
inclining against trees, so many types of indolent repose. Their arms were near them 
all, sometimes leaning against the same trees as themselves, or were Ipng across their 
bodies, m careless preparation. But the group that most attracted the attention of 
Deerslayer was that composed of the women and children. All the females appeared 
to be collected together, and, almost as a matter of course, their young were near 
them. The former laughed and chatted, in their rebuked and quiet manner, though 
one who knew the habits of the people might have detected that every thing was 
not going on in its usual train. Most of the young women seemed to be light- 
hearted enough ; but one old hag was seated apart, with a watchful, soured aspect, 
which, the hunter at once knew, betokened that some duty of an unpleasant character 
had been assigned her by the chiefs. What that duty was, he had no means of know- 
ing ; but he felt satisfied it must be, in some measure, connected with her own sex, the 
aged among the women generally being chosen for such oiEces, and no other. 

As a matter of course, Deerslayer looked eagerly and anxiously for the form of 
Hist. She was nowhere visible, though the light penetrated to considerable distances, 
in all directions around the fire. Once, or twice, he started, as he thought he recog- 
nized her laugh ; but his ears were deceived by the soft melody that is so common to 
the Indian female voice. At length the old woman spoke loud and angrily, and then 
he caught a glimpse of one or two dark figures, in the background of trees, which 
turned as if obedient to the rebuke, and walked more within the circle of the light. 
A young warrior's form first came fairly into view ; then followed two youthful 
females, one of whom proved to be the Delaware girl. Deerslayer now comprehended 
it all. Hist was watched, possibly by her young companion, certainly by the old 
woman. The youth was probably some suitor of either her or her companion ; but 
even his discretion was distrusted under the influence of his admiration. The known 
vicinity of those who might be supposed to be her friends, and the arrival of a 
strange red-man on the lake, had induced more than the usual care, and the girl had 
not been able to slip away from those who watched her, in order to keep her appoint- 
ment. Deerslayer traced her uneasiness, by her attempting, once or twice, to look up 
through the branches of the trees, as if endeavoring to get glimpses of the star she 
had herself named, as the sign for meeting. All was vain, however, and after strolling 
about the camp a little longer, in afiected indifierence, the two girls quitted their male 
escort, and took seats among their own sex. As soon as this was done, the old 



THE RESCUE OF HIST. 329 

sentinel changed lier place to one more agreeable to herself — a certain proof that she 
had hitherto been exclusively on the watch. 

Deerslayer now felt greatly at a loss how to proceed. He well knew that Chingach- 
gook could never be persuaded to return to the ark, without making some desperate 
effort for the recovery of his mistress, and his own generous feelings well disposed him 
to aid in such an undertaking. He thought he saw the signs of an intention among the 
females to retire for the night ; and should he remain, and the fire continue to give 
out its light, he might discover the particular hut, or arl)or, under which Hist reposed 
— a circumstance that would be of infinite use, in their future proceedings. Should 
he remain, however, much longer where he was, there was great danger that the im- 
patience of his friend would drive him into some act of imprudence. At each instant, 
indeed, he expected to see the swarthy form of the Delaware appearing in the back- 
ground, like the tiger prowling around the fold. Taking all things into consideration, 
therefore, he came to the conclusion it would be better to rejoin his friend, and en- 
deavor to temper his impetuosity by some of his own coolness and discretion. It 
required but a minute or two to jjut this jjlan iu execution — the canoe returning to the 
strand some ten or fifteen minutes after it had left it. 

Contrary to his expectations, perhaps, Deerslayer found the Indian at his jiost, from 
which he had not stirred, fearful that his betrothed might arrive during his absence. 
A conference followed, in which Chingachgook was made acquainted with the state of 
things in the camp. When Hist named the point as the place of meeting, it was with 
the expectation of making her escape from the old position, and of repairing to a spot 
that she expected to find without any occupants ; but the sudden change of localities 
had disconcerted all her jilans. A much greater degree of vigilance than had been 
previously required, was now necessary ; and the circumstance that an aged woman 
was on watch, also denoted some special grounds of alarm. All these considerations, 
and many more that will readily suggest themselves to the reader, were briefly dis- 
cussed before the young men came to any decision. The occasion, however, being one 
that required acts instead of words, the course to be pursued was soon chosen. 

Disposing of the canoe in such a manner that Hist must see it, should she come to 
the place of meeting previously to their return, the young men looked to their arms, 
and prepared to enter the wood. The whole projection into the lake contained 
about two acres of land ; and the part that formed the point, and on which the camp 
was placed, did not compose a surface of more than half that size. It was principally 
covered with oaks, which, as is usual in the American forests, grew to a great height 
without throwing out a branch, and then arched iu a dense and rich foliage. Beneath, 
except the fringe of thick bushes along the shore, there was very little underbrush ; 
though, in consequence of their shape, the trees were closer together than is com- 
mon in regions where the axe has been freely used, resembling tall, straight, rustic 
columns, upholding the usual canopy of leaves. The surfece of the land was tolerably 
42 



330 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

even, but it had a small rise near its centre, which divided it into a northern and 
southern half. On the latter the Hurons had built their fire, profiting by the forma- 
tion to conceal it from their enemies, who, it wiU be remembered, were supposed to 
be in the castle, which bore northerly. A biook also came brawling down the sides 
of the adjacent hills, and found its way into the lake, on the southern side of the point. 
It had cut for itself a deep passage through some of the higher portions of the ground, 
and, iu later days, when this spot has become subjected to the uses of civilization, by 
its windings and shaded banks, it has become no mean accessory in contributing to the 
beauty of the place. This lirook la^' west of the encampment, and its waters found 
their way into the great reservoir of that region on the same side, and quite near to 
the spot chosen for the fire. All these peculiarities, so far as circumstances allowed, 
had been noted by Deerslayer, and explained to his friend. 

The reader wUl understand that the little rise in the ground, that lay behind the 
Indian encampment, greatly favored the secret advance of the two adventurers. It 
prevented the light of the fire diflusing itself on the groimd directly iu the rear, 
although the land fell away toward the water, so as to leave what might be termed the 
left, or eastern flank of the position, improteetod by this covering. We have said 
" unprotected," though that is not jirojjerly the word, since the knoll behind the huts 
and the fire offered a cover for those who were now stealthily ap])roaching, rather than 
any protection to the Indians. Deerslayer did not break through the fringe of bushes 
immediately abreast of the canoe, which might have brought him too suddenly within 
the influence of the light, since the hillock did not extend to the water ; but he followed 
the beach northerly until he had got nearly on the opposite side of the tongue of land, 
wliich brought him under the shelter of the low acclivity, and, consequently, more in 
shadow. 

As soon as the friends emerged fr<im the bushes, they stopped to reconnoitre. The 
fire was still blazing belund the little ridge, casthig its light upward, into the tops of 
the trees, producing an eftect that was more pleasing than advantageous. Still the 
glare had its uses ; for, while the background was in obscurity, the foreground was 
in strong light; exposing the savages and concealing their foes. Profiting by the 
latter circumstance, the young men advanced cautiously toward the ridge, Deerslayer 
in front, for he insisted on this arrangement, lest the Delaware should be led by his 
feelings into some indiscretion. It required but a moment to reach the foot of the little 
ascent, and then commenced the most critical part of the enterprise. Moving witli ex- 
ceeding caution, and trailing his rifle, both to keep its barrel out of view and in 
readiness for service, the hunter put foot before foot, until he had got sufliciently high 
to overlook the summit, his own head being alone brought into the light. Chingaehgook 
was at his side, and both paused to take another close examination of the camp. In 
order, however, to protect themselves against any straggler in the rear, they placed 
their bodies against the trunk of an oak, standing on the side next the fire. 




\ 



THE KESCUE OF HIST. 33I 

The view that Deerslayer now obtained of tlie camp, was exactly the reverse of 
that ho liail perceived from the water. The dim figures which he had formerly dis- 
covered, m.ust have been on the summit of the ridge, a few feet in advance of the spot 
where he was now posted. The fire was still blazing brightly, and around it were 
seated, on logs, thirteen warriors, which accounted for all whom he had seen from the 
canoe. They were conversing, with much earnestness, among themselves, the image 
of the elephant passing from hand to hand. The first burst of savage wonder had 
abated, and the question now under discussion was the probable existence, the history, 
and the habits of so extraordinary an animal. We have not leisure to record the 
opinions of these rude men on a subject so consonant to their Uves and experience ; but 
little is hazarded in saying that they were quite as plausible, and far more ingenious, 
than half the conjectures that precede the demonstrations of science. However much 
they may have been at fault, as to their conclusions and inferences, it is certain that 
they discussed the questions with a zealous and most undivided attention. For the 
time being, all else was forgotten, and our adventurers could not have approached at a 
more fortunate instant. 

The females were collected near each other, much as Deerslayer had last seen them, 
nearly in a line between the place where he now stood and the fire. The distimce from 
the oak against which the young man leaned, and the warriors, was about thirty yards ; 
the women may h.ave been half that number of yards nigher. The latter, indeed, were 
so near as to make the utmost circumspection, as to motion and noise, indispensable. 
Although they conversed in their low, soft voices, it was possible, in the profound 
stiUness of the woods, even to catch passages of the discourse ; and the light-hearted 
'augh that escaped the girls, might occasionally have reached the canoe. Deerslayer 
felt the tremor that passed through the frame of his friend, when the latter first caught 
the sweet sounds that issued from the plump, pretty lips of Hist. He even laid a hand 
on the shoulder of the Indian, as a sort of admonition to command himself. As the 
conversation grew more earnest, eacli leaned forward to listen. 

"The Hurons have more curious beasts than that," said one of the girls, con- 
temptuously; for, like the men, they conversed of the ele]iliant antl his qualities. 
"The Delawares will think this creature wonderful, but, to-morrow, no Huron tongue 
will talk of it. Our young men will find him, if the animal dares to come near our 
wigwams !" 

This was, in fact, addressed to Wah-tah-Wah, though she who spoke uttered her 
words with an assumed difiidence and humility, that prevented her looking at the 
other. 

" The Delawares are so far from letting such creatures come into their country," 
returned Hist, " that no one has even seen their images there ! Their young men 
would frighten away the images as well as the beasts." 

" The Delaware young men ! The nation is women ; even the deer walk when 



330 PAGES A N M P I ( 'T IT K V. S . 

they hear their hunters coinmg ! Who has ever heard the name of a young Dehxware 
warrior ?" 

This was said in good humor, and with a laugh ; but it was also said liitingly. Tliat 
Hist so felt it was a])parent by the spirit betrayed in her answer. 

" Who has ever heard the name of a young Delaware ?" she repeated, earnestly. 
"Tamenuiid himself, though now as ol<l as the ]iines on the hill, or as the eagles in the 
air, was once young ; his name was heard from the great salt lake to the sweet waters 
of the west. What is the family of Uncas ? Where is another as great, though the 
pale-faces have ploughed up its graves, and trodden on its bones ? Do the eagles fly 
as high, is the deer as swift, or the panther as brave ? Is there no young warrior of 
that race? Let the Huron maidens open their eyes wider, and they may see one 
called Chingachgook, who is as stately as the young ash, and as tough as the hickory." 

As the girl used her figurative language, and told her companions to " open their 
eyes, and they would see" the Delaware, Deerslayer thrust his fingers into the sides of 
his friend, and indulged in a fit of his hearty, benevolent laughter. The other smiled ; 
but the language of the speaker was too flattering, and the tones of her voice too sweet, 
for him to be led away by any accidental coincidence, however ludicrous. The speech 
of Hist produced a retort, and the dispute, though conducted in good humor, and 
without any of the coarse violence of tone and gesture that often imi)airs the charms of 
the sex in what is called civilized life, grew warm and slightly clamorous. In the 
midst of this scene, the Delaware caused his friend to stoop, so as comjiletely to conceal 
himself, and then he made a noise so closely resembling the little chirrup of the smallest 
species of the American squirrel, that Deerslayer himself, though he had heard the imi- 
tation a hundred times, actually thought it came from one of the little animals, skipping 
about over his head. The sound is so familiar in the woods, that none of the Hurons 
paid it the least attention. Hist, however, instantly ceased talking, and sat motion- 
less. Still she had sufficient self-command to abstain from turning her head. She had 
heard the signal liy which her lover so often called her from the wigwam to the stolen 
interview, and it came over her senses and her heart as the serenade afiects the maiden 
in the land of song. 

From that moment Chingachgook felt certain that his presence was known. This 
was efiecting nuich, and he could now hope for a bolder hue of conduct on the part of 
his mistress than she might dare to adopt under an uncertainty of his situation. It left 
no doubt of her endeavoring to aid him in his eflbrt to release her. Deerslayer arose 
as soon as the signal was given, and though he had never held that sweet communion 
which is known only to lovers, he was not slow to detect the great change that had 
come over the manner of the girl. She still affected to dispute, though it was no longer 
with S2>irit and ingenuity ; but what she said was uttered more as a lure to draw her 
antagonists on to an easy conquest, than with any hopes of succeeding herself. Once 
or twice, it is true, her native readiness suggested a retort, or an argument, that raised 



THE RESCUE OF HIST. 333 

a laugh, and gave her a momentary advantage ; but these little sallies, the offspring of 
mother-wit, served the better to conceal her real feelings, and to give to the triumph 
of the other party a more natural air than it might have possessed without them. At 
length the disputants became wearied, and they rose in a body, as if about to separate. 
It was now that Hist, for the first time, ventured to turn her face in the direction 
whence the signal had come. In doing this, her movements were natural but guarded, 
and she stretched her arm and yawned, as if overcome with a desire to sleep. The 
chirrup was again heard, and the girl felt satisfied as to the position of her lover, though 
the strong light in which she herself was placed, and the comparative darkness in 
which the adventurers stood, prevented her from seeing their heads, the only portions 
of their forms that ajipeared above the ridge at all. The tree against which they were 
posted had a dark shadow cast upon it by the intervention of an enormous pine that 
grew between it and the fire ; a circumstance which, alone, would have rendered 
objects within its cloud invisible at any distance. This Deerslayer well knew, and it 
was one of the reasons why he had selected this particidar tree. 

The moment was near when it became necessary for Hist to act. She was to sleep 
in a small hut, or bower, that had been built near the spot where she stood, and her 
companion was the aged hag, already mentioned. Once within the hut, with this 
sleepless old woman stretched across the entrance, as was her nightly practice, the 
hope of escape was nearly destroyed, and she might, at any moment, be sunnuoned to 
her bed. Luckily, at this instant, one of the wari'iors called to the old woman by 
name, and bade her bring liini water to drink. There was a delicious spring on the 
northern side of the j)oint, and the h.ag took a gourd from a Ijranch, and summoning 
Hist to her side, she moved toward the summit of the ridge, intending to descend and 
cross the point to the natural fountain. All this was seen and understood by the 
adventurers, and they fell back into the obsciu'ity, concealing their persons by trees, 
until the two females had passed them. In walking. Hist was held tightly by the 
hand. As she moved by the tree that hid Chingachgook and his friend, the former 
felt for his tomahawk, with the intention to bury it in the brain of the woman. But 
the other saw the hazard of such a measure, since a single scream might bring all the 
warriors upou them, and he was averse to the act on considerations of humanity. His 
hand, therefore, prevented the blow. Still, as the two moved past, the chirrup was 
repeated, and the Huron woman stopped and faced the tree whence the sounds seemed 
to proceed, standing, at the moment, within six feet of her enemies. She expressed 
her surprise that a squirrel should be in motion at so late an hour, and said it boded 
evil. Hist answered that she had heard the same squirrel three times witlun the last 
twenty minutes, and that she supposed it was waiting to obtain some of the crumbs 
left from the late supper. This explanation appeared satisfactory, and they moved 
toward the spring, the men following stealthily and closely. The gourd was filled, 
and the old woman was hurrying back, her hand stiU grasping the wrist of the girl. 



334 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



when she was suddenly seized so violently by the throat, as to cause her to release her 
captive, and to prevent her making any other sound than a sort of gurglmg, suffocating 
noise. The Serpent passed his arm round the waist of his mistress, and dashed through 
the bushes with her, on the north side of the jjoint. Here he immediately turned 
along the beach, and ran toward the canoe. A more direct course could have been 
taken, but it might have led to a discovery of the place of embarking. 

Deerslayer kept playing on the throat of the old woman, like the keys of an organ, 
occasionally allowing her to breathe, and then compressing his fingers again, nearly 
to strangling. The brief intervals for breath, however, were well improved, and the 
hag succeeded in letting out a screech or two that served to alarm the camp. The 
tramp of the warriors, as they sprang from the fire, was plainly audible ; and, at the 
next moment, three or four of them appeared on the top of the ridge, drawn against 
the background of hght, resembling the dim shadows of the phantasmagoria. It was 
now quite time for the hunter to retreat. Tripping \vp the heels of his captive, and 
giving her throat a parting squeeze, quite as much in resentment at her indomitable 
efforts to sound the alarm, as from any policy, he left her on her back, and moved 
toward the bushes, his rifle at a poise, and his head over his shoulders, like a lion at 
bay. 




PRIMEVAL PINES. 




XVIII. 



WING-AND-WING. 



While in Italy, tlie American writer had made a short cruise, in a Genoese 
fehicea, along the coast of Tuscany, Eomagna, and Naples. He often recalled 
the excursion, with great pleasure, at a later day, when sitting at his own fire- 
side among the Otsego Hills ; and a marine tale connected with the waters of 
the blue Mediterranean, the islands and coasts explored on that occasion, was 
now planned. Passages from his original record of the little cruise are given to 
the reader : 

" Witli this outfit, then, the little ' Belle Genovese' — a felucca of thirty tons — 
got her anchor, with a light wind at north-west, about five in the afternoon, and 
began to turn oixt of the harbor. In half an hour we had made three or four 
stretches, which enabled us to weather the head of the mole, when we stood to 
the southward with flowing sheets. Our course lay between a succession of 
islands and the main, in a south-easterly direction. Gorgona and Capraja were 
in sight on quitting the port — Leghorn ; and our first object was to run through 
what is here called the canal of Elba, a strait between that island and the head- 
land of Piombino. The wind was so light that our progress was slow, and 
when we took to our mattresses, Leghorn was but two or three leagues behind us. 
On turning out the next morning, I found the felucca close hauled, beating up 
for the eliannel with a fresh breeze from the southwai'd. The brown mountains 
of Elba formed the background to windward ; Porto Ferrajo lying about two 
leagues from us directly on our weather beam. We fetched in just beneath the 



336 PAGES AND PICTUKES. 

cliff or promontory that forms the nurth-eastern extremity of the town of Porto 
Ferrajo, a rocky eminence of some elevation. The bay is several miles deep, 
and at its month nearly a league wide ; the land being chiefly mountain and 
cotes. The promontory on which stands the town makes a bend on its inner side, 
like the curve of a hook ; and this, aided a little by some artilicial works, 
forms a l)eautiful and secure little harbor, the water being everywhere deep, 
with bold shores. I had called a boat to put tis ashore, when the padrone an- 
nounced the appalling news of there being a quarantine of fifteen days between 
Elba and Naples ! We immediately hauled out of the harbor ; but while dis- 
cussing breakfast the padrone came to us, to say he had just learned that while 
there was a quarantine i)f fifteen days between Elba and Najiles, there was none 
at all between the Koman states and Najiles ; and thus, by running into Civita 
Vecchia, we might get clean bills of health, and all would be plain sailing — so 
much for a Mediterranean quarantine ! I accepted the terms, and we landed. 
Porto Ferrajo is a small, crowded town, containing five thousand souls, and 
lying on the acclivity on the inner side of the promontory. It is pretty well 
fortified, though the works are old ; it is walled, and has two little forts or 
citadels on the heights. It was garrisoned by five hundred men, they told me, 
and there w^ere two hundred galley-slaves kept in the place. The town was clean 
enough, the streets having steps, or narrow terraces, by whicli we ascended the 
hills. The arrival of a jjarty of strangers created quite a sensation, for there are 
few more retired spots in Europe than this. We went to the best inn, which bears 
the imj^osing title of the Quattro Ifazioni. It was far from bad, and gave us a 
reasonably good dinner, promising four beds and a sofa should we pass the night 
there. The art of coloring brick floors has not reached this inn ; the room in 
which we dined had seve7i mirrors, while the floor was of coarse, dirt-colored 
bricks, full of holes. I had some conversation ^vith the people of the house con- 
cerning their late sovereign. Napoleon arrived in the evening, and remained in 
the frigate until the next day. One of his first acts was to send for the oldest 
known flag used by Elba, and this he caused to be hoisted on the forts — a sign of 
independency. After dinner, we walked to the home of Napoleon ; it stands con- 
spicuously ; is low and small, composed of a main body and two wings, showing 
a front in all of ten windows. Tlie entire length may have been ninety feet, 
but the other dimensions were not on a proportionate scale. The house of Madame 
Mere has a better air, as to comfort ; it has but one story, showing fifteen win- 
dows in a row. At the inn I saw what the Italians call a tarantula — it is not a 
spider, but a lizard ; perhaps nine-tenths of the Italians fancy the bite of this 
animal mortal ; but it is a perfectly inofl^ensive lizard, living on insects, and is 



WING-AX D-\V IN G. 337 

found in America, wliere no one ever heard of its poison. It is, however, a 
most disgusting-looking object, wliich is probably the reason it bears so bad a 
name. * * * After a good deal of difficulty, I got our padrone out of the 
port just as the sun was setting. We found the wind fresh outside, but as fair as 
could be wished. Our course was to double the eastern end of the island, where 
there was a narrow passage between it and a small rocky islet — the spot of which 
jSTapoleon is said to have taken possession with a corporal's guard as soon as he 
landed. It was a dependency of the new empire. This act of his has been 
laughed at, and is cited as a proof of his passion for conquest ; but it strikes 
me as more probable that he did it to prevent an luipleasant neighborhood. 
* * * At daylight next day, we stood to the southward, the wind being fair, 
but light. At ten it fell calm. There was a small rocky islet, about a mile from 
us, and we swept the felucca up to it, and anchored in a little sandy bay. The 
padrone said the island was called Troja ; it contained about thirty acres, a high 
rock, with a little shrubbery, and was surmounted by an ancient and ruined 
watch-tower. We landed, and explored the country ; our arrival gave the alarm 
to some thousands of gulls, and other marine birds, who had proljably not been 

disturbed for years. W • undertook to ascend to the tower— an exploit more 

easily achieved than the descent ; he found it the remains of a watch-tower, of 
which this coast has hundreds, erected as a protection against the invasions of the 
Barbary corsairs. "With one coast peopled by those who were at the head of 
civilization, and the other by those who were just civilized enough to be formid- 
able, constant warfare, the habits of slavery, and the harem, one can understand 
the uses of all these towers. At noon we embarked ; we had a good run for the 
rest of the day, at the distance of a league or two from the coast, which was low, 
with many islets and sand-banks visible. Just before sunset we came up -with a 
high headland that looked like an island — Monte Argentaro, a peninsula con- 
nected with the mainland by a low spit of sand. Behind it lies one of the best 
harbors for small craft in Italy, at the town of Orbitello. Directly abreast of it 
are several small islands, and we took our course among them ; this was delight- 
ful navigation at the close of a fine. day in August, with a cool north wind, and 
in such a sea. We ran so near the moitntain as to discern the smallest objects, 
and were constantly changing the scene. On this headland I counted seven 
watch-towers, and all within the space of a league or two. Licluding Elba, we 
must have seen and passed this day, in a run of about twenty miles, some twenty 
islands. The Koman coast commenced as soon as we were clear of Ai-gentaro ; 
it was low, and the watch-towers, better constructed than common — a sort of 
martello tower — were so near each other as completely to sweep the beach with 
43 



338 PAGES AXD PICTURES. 

their ijiiiis. Civita Vecchia lies aruuiid a shallow cove, with an artilieial basin 
within it, and a niole stretching athwart the montJi of tlie cuve. The town is 
small, but not dirty ; there is an ancient mole, and a basin that once contained 
Roman gallics ; the bronze rings by which they were made fast to the quays still 
remain ! •■' * ■•'■ The run the following evening was delightful ; we glided 
along, in perfectly smootli water, at the rate of seven knots, and so near the 
shore as to discern every thing of moment. As the day declined, the land 
melted away mitil it got to be a low waste, the water margin of the Campagna 
of Rome. Al^ont nine the jjadrone jiointed out the position of Ostia and the 
mouths of the Tiber. lie kept the vessel well oft" the shore, jJi'etending that the 
malaria at this season was so penetrating as to render it dangerous to be closer in, 
with the wind oft' the land. I was singularly struck with the existence of this 
subtle and secret danger in the midst of a scene otherwise so lovely. The night 
was as brilliant a stai'-light as I remember to have seen. Nothing could sui-pass the 
diamond-like lustre of the placid and thoughtful stars ; and the blue waters 
through which we were gliding betrayed our passage by a track of molten silver. 
While we were gazing at this beautiful spectacle, a meteor crossed the heavens, 
illuminating every thing to the brightness of a clear moonlight. It was. much 
the finest meteor I have ever seen, and its course included more than half the 
arch al)ove us. * * * '•'■ * * 

"We hauled up to the windward of Procida, sailing through an element so 
limpid that we saw every rock and stone on the bottom, in live fathoms water. 
Having opened the channel between the two islands, we bore up for Ischia, where 
we arrived a little before sunset. There a scene j^resented itself which more re- 
sembled a fairy picture than one of the realities of this every-day world of ours. 
I think it was the most ravishing spectacle, in its way, eye of mine ever looked 
upon. We had the black, volcanic peaks of the island for a background, with 
the ravine-like valleys and mountain faces — covered with villas and groves — in 
front. The town is near the southern extremity of the island, and lies along the 
shore for more than a mile on a liit of level formation ; but, after passing a sort 
of bridge or terrace — which I took to be a public promenade — the rocks rose sud- 
denly, and terminated in two or three lofty, fantastic, broken, fragment-like crags, 
which nuike the south-eastern end of the island. On these rocks are perched 
several old castles, so beautifully wild and picturesque, that they seemed jjlaeed 
there for no other purpose than to .adorn the landscape. By a curvature of the 
land, these rocks sheltered the roadstead, and the quaint old structures were 
brought almost to impend over our heads. The whole population seemed to be 
out enjoying themselves after the heat of the day ; and a scene in which a move- 



WING-A N D- W IN G. 339 

ment of life was so mingled with a superb, but most lovely nature, it is, indeed, 
rare to witness. Until that moment, I was not fully sensible of the vast supei-i- 
ority of the Italian landscapes over all others. Switzei-land astonishes, often 
delights, by its union of the pastoral with the sublime ; but Italian nature wins 
upon you, until you come to love it as a friend. I can only liken the effect of the 
scene we gazed upon this evening, to a feeling allied to transport ; to the manner 
in which we dwell \ipon the serene expression of a beloved and lovely countenance. 
Other scenes have the tints, the hues, the outlines, the proportions, the grandeur, 
and even the softness of beauty ; but these have the character that mark the ex- 
istence of a soul. Tlie effect is to pour a flood of sensations upon the mind, wholly 
distinct from the common feeling of wonder excited l>y vastness and magnificence. 
Tlie refinement of Italian nature appears to distinguish it as much from that of 
other countries, as the same quality distinguishes the man of sentiment and 
intellect from the man of mere impulses. In sublimity of a certain sort — more es- 
pecially in its sublimity of desolation — Switzerland, probably, has no equal on 
earth ; and to this is to be added a certain unearthly aspect which the upper 
glaciers assume in jiarticular conditions of the atmosphere. But these Italian 
scenes rise to a sublimity of a different kind, which, though it does not awe, leaves 
behind it a tender sensation allied to that of love. I can conceive of even an 
ardent admirer of nature wearying, in time, of the grandeur of the Alps ; but I 
can scarcely imagine one who would ever tire of the witchery of Italy. * * * 
The lower classes of Italy, with the exception of those who live on travellei'S, 
appear to me to be unsophisticated, kind, and well-principled. There is a native 
activity of mind about them that renders their rogues great rogues ; but I question 
if the mass here be not quite as honest as the mass in any other country under the 
same social pressure. An American should always remember the comparative 
exemption from temptation existing in his own country. Common crimes are 
certainly not as general with us as in Europe, and precisely for the reason named ; 
biit uncommon meannesses abound in a large circle of our population. The vices 
of an American origin are necessarily influenced by the condition of American 
society ; and, as a pi'inciple, the same is true here. It may be questioned if ex- 
amination, taking into view all the circumstances, would give a result so much in 
our favor as some pretend. Once removed from the towns and other haunts of 
travellers, I have found the Italians of the lower classes endued with quite as many 
good qiialities as most of their neighbors, and with more than some of them. Tliey 
are more generous than the English, more sincere than the French, and more 
refined than the Germans. Certainly they are quieker-witted, and, physically, 
thev are altogether a finer race, though short, than I had imagined. 



340 PAGES A X P PICTURES. 

" Shades of difference exist in Italian character, as between the diffei'ent states ; 
the preference being usually given to the inhabitants of Upper Italy. I have 
not found the difference so manifestly clear against the South ; though I do 
believe that the Piedmontese, in a physical sense, are the finest race of the entire 
country. Foreigners would l)etter appreciate the Italian character if they better 
understood the usages of the country. A nation divided like this — conquered, as 
this has been, and lying, as it now does, notoriously at the mercy of any powerful 
invader — loses the estimation tliat is due to numbers. The stranger regards the 
peo^jle as unworthy of possessing distinctive traits, and obtrudes his own habits on 
them, coarsely, and, too often, insolently. This, in ])art, is submitted to from 
necessity ; but mutual ill-will and distrust are the consequences. The vulgar- 
minded Englishman talks of the ''danmed Italians," and the vulgar-minded 
American imitates his great model, though neither has, probably, any knowledge 
of the peojjle, beyond that Avhich he lias i,>l)taincd in inns, and in the carriages of 
the vetturini. In grace of mind — in a love, and even a knowledge of the arts — a 
large portion of the common Italians are as much superior to the Anglo-Saxon 
race as civilization is superior to barbarism. We deride their religious super- 
stitions ; but we overlook the exaggerations, uncharitableness, and severity of our 
own fanaticism. I do not know any peasantry in which there is more ingenuous- 
ness, with less of rusticity and vulgarity, than that of Tuscany. The society o£__ 
Italy — which is but another word for the nobles of the country — so far as I have 
seen it, has the general European character, modified a little by position. They 
have a general acquaintance with literature, without being often learned ; and 
there is a grace about their minds, derived from the constant practice of contem- 
plating the miracles of art, that is rather peculiar to them. An Italian gentleman is 
more gracious than an Englishman, and less artificial than a Frenchman. Indeed, 
I have often thought that, in these particulars, he is the nearest to a true standard 
of any gentleman of Europe. There is a sincerity in this class, also, that took me 
by surprise — a simplicity of mind and numner. not common on the other side of 
the Alps. 

" JSTature appears to have intended Italy for a single country. With a people 
speaking the same language ; a territory almost surrounded by water, or separated 
from the rest of Europe Ijy a barrier of great mountains ; its actual ancient history, 
relative positi(m, and interests — would all seem to have a direct tendency toward 

bringing about this great end. The of assured me that such was the 

intention of Napoleon, who looked forward to the time when he might convert the 
whole peninsida into a single state. Had he continued to reign, and had he been 
the father of two or more sons, it is quite probable that he would have distributed 



W I N G - A X U - W I N G . 341 

liis kingdoms among tlieni at liis death ; but, while he lived, no man would have 
got any thing back t'roni Napoleon Bonaparte with his own consent. Italy, instead 
of being the consolidated country one could wish it were, is now divided into ten 
states, including little Monaco. The study of Italy is profitable to an American. 
One of the greatest — indeed, the only serious obstacle to consolidation of all the 
Italian states, arises from the hereditary hatreds and distrusts of the people of 
one portion of the country to those of another. Sucli is it to separate the family 
tie ; and such would soon be our own condition, were the bond of union that now 
unites us Severed. By playing off one portion of the country against another, the 
common enemy wnuld phmder all. The Italians, while they are sensible that 
Xapoleon did them good by introducing the vigor and improvements of France, 
do not extol his reign. They justly deem him a selfish conqueror; and, I make 
no doubt, joyfully threw oif his yoke. The conscription appears to have been the 
most oppressive of liis measures ; and well it might be, for, even admitting that 
his ultimate ends were to be beneficial, the means were next to intolerable. He 
improved the roads, invigorated tlie police, retbrmed many abuses, and gave new 
impulses to society, it is true ; but in the place of the old grievances he substituted 
King Stork for King Log. 

" The laws and customs of the Italian states have so many minute points of 
diflPerence, that the wishes of some of the patriots of this region point toward a 
confederated republic, something like that of Switzerland. Sooner or later, Italy 
will, inevitably, become a single state ; this is a result which I hold to be certain, 
though the means by which it is to be effected are still hidden. In the absence of 
great political events, to weaken the authority of the present government, edu- 
cation is the surest jirocess, though a slow one."' * * ^ '- - 

The leading idea of " Wing-and-Wing"' consists in bringing together sailors of 
different nations — English, French, Yankee, and Italian — throwing them into the 
same scenes, on the l)lue waters of the Mediterranean. The name " Wing-and- 
Wing" refers, as the reader may be already aware, to the peculiar Italian rig, the 
lateen sails, which hover about every gulf and bay of that beautiful sea, like 
white-winged birds, in picturesque flight. The craft, however, in which the 
reader becomes especially interested, is French, and, like her captain, the gallant 
Eaoul Yvard, bears a French name, " Le Feu FoUet"' — Tlie Jack-o'-Lanthorn, or 
Will-o'-the-Wisp — whichever translation the reader may prefer. ' And, by-the- 
by, is it not true that those idle, mocking, dancing flames — which, we are told, 
delight in beguiling the solitary wayfarer in Europe — are more common in the 
old hemisphere than in the new ? Which of ns has ever had the pleasure of 
meeting Jack-o"-Lanthorn, even in the darkest of nights, and over the most 



3i3 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



marshy of roads? Nay, which of ns can even boast of the collateral honors of a 
wontler-monger — which of ns can say that this or tliat kinsman, or neighbor, 
ever had the good Inck to be led astray, into marsh or mire, hj Will-o'-the-Wisp ? 
Like Puck, and liobin Goodfellow, Will seems to have little fancy for a Yankee 
marsh. Ghita, the Italian diminutive of Margarita, the heroine of the narrative, 
is a very sweet character, and the reader soon learns to share in her dee^) anxiety 
regarding her lover, the brave young Frenchman, who is represented as being, 
like too many of his nation at that jjeriod, a sceptic on religioiis subjects. The 
death of Haoul is very impressive, and, like the heart-sti'icken Ghita, kneeling on 
the rock at liis side, when the young man expires with his eyes riveted in dawn- 
ing conviction on the glorious heavens above, the reader is left with tlie hope 
that, even in that last solemn hour, something of the liglit of sacred Truth, and 
assent to its influences, maj^ have reached his spirit. 

"Wing-and-"Wing," though not one of Mr. Cooper's most brilliant tales of the 
sea, is yet assuredly a work of very decided merit. A brief extract, the death of 
Carraccioli, is all that is allowed us as a picture from its pages. 






nAEACCIOLI. 



ViTO Vrri muttered an answer ; for, by this time, he had discovered that he was 
a very different personage, on board tlie Proserpine, from what the other had appeared 
to consider him, while in his native island. He niiglit have expressed himself aloud, 
indeed ; but, at that instant, a column of smoke glanced out of the bow port of the 
Minerva — a yellow flag was shown aloft — and then came the report of the signal-gun. 

It has been said that vessels of war, of four different nations, were, at that time, 
lying ill the bay of Naples. Nelson had come in, but a short time previously, with 
seventeen ships of the line ; and he found several more of his countrymen Ipng 
there. This large force had been assembled to repel an expected attack on the 
island of Minorca ; and it was still kept together in an imcertainty of the future 
movements of the enemy. A Russian force had come out of the Black Sea, to act 
against the French, bringing with it a squadron of the Grand Signor ; thus presenting 
to the world the singular spectacle of the followers of Luther, devotees of the Greek 
church, and disciples of Mahomet, uniting in defence of " our rights, our firesides, and 
our altars !" To these vessels must be added a small squadron of ships of the 
country; making a mixed force of 'four different ensigns that was to witness the 
melancholy scene we are about to relate. 

The yellow flag, and the signal-gun, brought every thing, in the shape of duty, to 
a stand-still, in all the fleets. The hoarse commands ceased — the boatswains and their 
mates laid aside their calls, and the echoing midshipmen no longer found orders to 
repeat. The seamen gathered to the sides of their respective vessels ; every part 
glistened with expectant eyes ; the booms resembled clusters of bees, suspended 



344 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

from the boughs of a forest ; and the knight-heads, taifrails, gangways, and stretchers 
of the rigging, were garnished witli those wliose bright buttons, glazed hats, epaulettes, 
and dark blue dresses, denoted them to belong to the privileged classes of a ship. Not- 
withstanding all this curiosity, nothing like the feeling which is apt to be manifested 
at an exhibition of merited punishment was visible in a single countenance. An ex- 
pression resembling a sombre gloom appeared to have settled on all those grim 
warriors of the deep ; English, Russian, Neapolitan, or Turk, apparently reserving all 
his sympathies for the sufferer, rather than for the majesty of justice. Still, no mur- 
mur arose ; no si<Tn of resistance was made ; no look of remonstrance given. The 
imseen mantle of authority covered all ; and these masses of discontented men sub- 
mitted, as we bow to what is believed to be the fiat of fate. The deep-seated and 
imresisting habit of discipline, suppressed complaint ; but there was a general convic- 
tion that some act was about to be committed, that it were better for humanity and 
justice should not be done ; or, if done at all, that it needed more of form, greater 
deliberation, and a fairer trial, to be so done as to obtain the commendation of men. 
The Turks, alone, showed apathy ; though all showed submission. These subjects of 
destiny looked on coldly ; though even among them a low rumor had passed that a 
malign influence prevailed in the fleet ; and that a great and proud spirit had gotten 
to be mastered by the passion that so often deprives heroes of their self-command 
and independence. 

Ghita ceased her prayers, as the rejsort of the gun broke rudely on her ears, and, 
■with streaming eyes, she even dared to look toward the frigate. Raoul, and all the 
rest, bent their gaze in the same direction. The sailors among them saw the rope at 
the fore-yard-arm move, and then heads rose slowly above the hammock-cloths ; when 
the prisoner and his attendant priest were visible even to their feet. The unfortunate 
Caraccioli, as has been said, had nearly numbered his threescore and ten years in the 
regular course of nature; and his bare head now showed the traces of time. He wore 
no coat ; and his arms were boimd behind his back, at the elbows, leaving just motion 
enough to the hands to aid him in the slighter offices about his own person. His neck 
■was bare, and the fatal cord was tightened sufficiently around it to prevent accidents, 
constantly admonishing its victim of its revolting office. 

A low murmur arose among the people in the boats, as this spectacle presented 
itself to their eyes ; and many bowed their faces in prayer. The condemned man 
caught a ray of consolation from this expression of sympathy ; and he looked around 
him, an instant, with something like a return of those feelings of the world which it 
had been his eflbrt and his desire totally to eradicate, since he had taken leave of 
Ghita, and learned that his last request — that of changing his mode of punishment — 
had been denied. That was a fearful moment, for one like Don Francesco Caraccioli, 
who had passed a long life in the midst of the scene that surrounded him — illustrious 
by birth, affluent, honored for his services, and accustomed to respect and deference. 



CARACCIOLI. 345 

Never had the glorious panorama of the bay appeared more lovely than it did at that 
instant, Avhen he was about to quit it forever, and this by means of a violent and dis- 
graceful death. From the purple mountains — the cerulean void above him — the blue 
■waters over which he seemed already to be suspended — and the basking shores, rich 
in their towns, villas, and vines, his eye turned toward the world of ships, each ahve 
with its masses of U^nng men. A glance of melancholy reproach was cast upon the 
little flag that was just warning at the mizzen-mast-head of the Foudroyant ; and then 
it fell on the carpet of faces beneath, that seemed foirly to change the surface of the 
smooth sea into an arena of human countenances. His look was steady, though his 
soul was in a tumult. Ghita was recognized by her companion, and by her dress. He 
moved toward the edge of his narrow scaffolding, endeavored to stretch forth his • 
arms, and blessed her again aloud. The poor girl dropped on her knees, in the 
bottom of the boat, bowed her head, and in that humble attitude did she remain until 
all was over ; not daring once to look upward again. 

" Son," said the jtriest, " this is a moment when the earth, and its feelings, must be 
forgotten." 

" I know it, father," answered the old man, his voice trembling with emotion, for 
his sensations were too powerfid — ^too sublime, even — for the degrading passion of 
fear ; " but never before did this fair piece of the creation seem so lovely in my eyes 
as now, when I am about to quit it for the last time." 

" Look beyond this scene, into the long vista of eternity, son ; thei'e thou wilt 
behold that which mocks at all human, all earthly means to equal. I fear that our 
time is but short — hast thou aught yet to say, in the flesh ?" 

" Let it be known, holy priest, that in my dying moment I prayed for Nelson, and 
for all who have been active in bringing me to this end. It is easy for the fortimate, 
and the untemjjted, to condemn ; but he is wiser, as he is safer, who puts more reliance 
on the goodness of God than on his own merits." 

A ray of satisfaction gleamed athwart the pale countenance of the priest — a 
sincerely pious man, or fear of personal consequences might have kept aloof from such 
a scene — and he closed his eyes, while he expressed his gratitude to God in the 
secret recesses of his own spirit. Then he turned to the prince, and spoke cheeringly. 

" Son," he said, " if thou quittest life with a due dependence on the Son of God, 
and in this temper toward thy fellow-creatures, of aU this living throng, thou art he 
who is most to be envied ! Address thy soul in prayer, once more, to HLm whom thou 
feelest can alone serve thee." 

Caraccioli, aided by the priest, knelt on the scaffold — for the rope hung loose enough 
to permit that act of humiliation — and the other bent at his side. 

" I wish to God Nelson had nothing to do with this !" muttered Cuffe, as he turned 
away his foce, inadvertently bending his eyes on the Foudroyant, nearly under the 
stern of which shij) his gig lay. There, in the stern-walk, stood the lady, already 
44 



34fl 



PAGES AND PICTURPOS. 



mentioned in this chapter, a keen spectator of the awful scene. No one, but a maid, 
was near her, however, the men (jf her companionship not being of moods stern 
enough to be at her side. Cufle turned away from this sight, in still stronger disgust ; 
and just at that moment a common cry arose from the boats. Looking round, he was 
just in time to see the unfortunate C'araccioli dragged from his knees, by the neck, 
until he rose, by a steady, man-of-war pull, to the end of the yard ; leaving his com- 
panion alone on the scaflbld, still lost in prayer. There was a horrible minute, of the 
struggles between life and death, when the body, so late the tenement of an im- 
mortal spirit, hung, like one of the jewel-blocks of the ship, dangling passively at the 
end of the spar, as insensible as the wood which sustained it. 








Tliio vra^ ranougli Mickpaaspd. q\it of "the forei^i 
nn a awjft walk-liul for ihe Itsnale.itvrouldliayelJeTn 
hiB c-nstomajy loping, 1roi followed Ijy "Wlloughl7\: 
!nrt arju agani cni-rliiif), tliR waist of Maud.' 



NEVi' YORK 




XIX. 



WYANDOTTE. 



The author of "The Deerslayer" was most thoroughly a pioneer in spirit. 
He delighted in the peculiarly American process of " clearing ;" not in its ruder 
forms, of course, where the cliief object of the colonist often appears to consist 
iu felling a noble wood, and leaving the unsightly wreck — a lifeless array of 
half-charred stumps — to moulder slowly away, under the storm and sunshine 
of half a life-time. It was the work of improvement, in all its different stages, in 
which he took pleasure, from the first opening of the soil to the sunlight, through 
all the long course of removing the wood, burning the brush, the first tilling, and 
the first crop. About a mile and a half from the village, on the eastern bank of 
the lake, lay a small farm, belted on all sides by the forest, and which he had 
taken great pleasure in imjiroving, from the first stages of clearing the ground by 
means of that ingenious Yankee contrivance, the stump-extractor, to the neat 
drain and finished stone wall. To this little farm, lying on the eastern mountain- 
side, he drove daily, to overlook his laborers and direct the work. It was one of 
the most beautiful natural positions in the neighborhood, connnanding charming 
views over lake and shore, field and wood. It was here, while looking down on 
the lake, that he planned the minute movements of Floating Tom, and the rude 
"ark," so prominent in "The Deerslayer." Almost every morning, wi-iting 



348 PAGES A XL) PICTURES. 

hours OVLT, he drove to tlie t/Mhf, hooking after the stock and the dairy, tlie pigs 
and tlie poiiltiy. It was a frequent remark of the worlvnien, that the animals all 
soon learned to know, and to follow him, from his i7i variable kindness to dumb 
creatures. Farming, in all its forms, had given him pleasure through life ; but he 
chiefly delighted in taking a fresh piece of land, and, commencing with the very 
first stages of cultivation, liringing it into shape and fruitfulness. 

"Wyandotte; or, The Hutted Knoll," is a tale of border life, planned and 
written wholly in this spirit. A family of the colonial period of our brief annals, 
is led into the wilderness to take possession of a new tract of land ; and the reader 
is made to follow their steps through the work of the first generation. The nar- 
rative itself is original, and very pleasing; the book would, no dijubt, have been 
considered a very agreeable addition to American literature, if the same pen had 
given us nothing more. The principal Indian character is admirably well drawn 
under a form different from any yet sketched by the same hand ; tln-oughout the 
book lie is seen in a double light — two distinct characters, as it were, blended into 
one peculiar whole, which is, in itself, perfectly trire to nature and American life. 
As " Sassy Nick," he is the common idle vagrant, a mere hanger-on of the M'hites, 
in that degraded condition to which too many of his race have been reduced by the 
first contact with civilization; as "Wyandotte," he is the warrior of his people, 
wily in plot, brave in fight, fierce ii^ revenge, with outbreaks of savage wisdom, and 
eloquence, and dignity, peculiar to the council-fire and the war-post of his people. 
The long struggle in the heart and mind of tliis wild creature, between gratitude 
for the kindness of Mrs. Willoughby, and the spirit of hatred and revenge against 
her husband, Colonel Willoughby, are admirably kept up and worked out through 
the whole tale, until its fatal close. Wyandotte is one of those books to which 
an extract cannot do justice; to appreciate the merit of tlie work we must follow 
the history of the little colony, and trace the course of the Indian, alike the 
savage friend and foe, of the border household. 




SAUCY NICK. 



OuE present tale now leads iis to the description of one of those early, personal, 
or famOy settlements, that had grown up in what was, then, a very remote part of the 
territory in question, under the care and supervision of au ancient officer of the name 
of Willoughby. Captain WiUoughby, after serving many years, had married an 
American wife, and, continuing his services until a son and daughter were born, he sold 
his commission, procured a grant of land, and determined to retire to his new posses- 
sions, in order to pass the close of his life in the tranquil pursuits of agriculture, and in 
the bosom of his family. An adopted child was also added to his cares. Being an 
educated as well as a jirovident man, Caiitain Willoughby had set about tlie execution 
of this scheme with deliberation, prudence, and intelligence. On the frontiers, or lines, 
as it is the custom to term the American boundaries, he had become acquainted with a 
Tusearora, known by the English soubri<2>(et of " Saucy Nick." This fellow — a sort of 
half-outcast from his own people — had early attached himself to the whites, had acquired 
their language, and, owing to a singular mixture of good and bad qualities, blended 
with great native shrewdness, he had wormed himself into the confidence of several 
commanders of small garrisons, among whom was our captain. No sooner was the 
mind of the latter made up, concerning his future course; than he sent for Nick, who 
was then in the fort ; when the following conversation took place : 

" Nick," commenced the captain, passing his hand over his brow, as was his wont 
when in a reflecting mood; "Nick, I have an important movement in view, in which 
you can be of some service to me." 

The Tusearora, fastening his dai'k, basilisk-eyes on the soldier, gazed a moment, 



350 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

as if to read his soul ; then he jerked a thumb backward, over his own shoulder, and 
said, with a grave smile — 

" Nick understand. Want six, two, scalp off Frenchman's head ; wife and child ; 
out yonder, over dere, up in Canada. Nick do him — what you give ?" 

" No, you red rascal, I want nothing of the sort ; it is peace now (this conversation 
took place in 1 764), and you know I never bought a scalp in time of war. Let me hear 
no more of this." 

"What you want, den?" asked Nick, like one who was a good deal puzzled. 

" I want land — good land — little, but good. I am about to get a grant — a patent — 

"Yes," interrupted Nick, nodding; "I \mo\\ him — paper to take away Indian's 
himting-ground." 

" Why, I have no wish to do that ; I am willing to pay the red men reasonably for 
their right, first." 

" Buy Nick's land, den ; better dan any oder." 

" Your land, knave ! You own no land ; belong to no tribe ; have no rights to 
sell." 

" What for ask Nick help, den ?" 

"What for? Why, because you knoio a good deal, though you own literally 
nothing. That's what for." 

" Buy Nick know., den. Better dan he great fader knoin, down at York." 

" That is just what I do wish to purchase. I will pay you well, Nick, if you will 
start to-morrow, with your rifle, and a pocket-compass, off here toward the head-waters 
of the Susquehanna and Delaware, where the streams run rapidly, and where thci-e are 
no fevers, and bring me an account of three or four thousand acres of rich bottom-land, 
in such a w.ay as a surveyor can find it, and I can get a patent for it. What say you, 
Nick — will you go ?" 

" He not wanted. Nick sell 'o captain his own land, here in 'e fort." 

"Knave, do you not know me well enough not to trifle when I am serious?" 

" Nick ser'ous too — Moravian priest no ser'ouser more dan Nick at dis moment. 
Got land to sell." 

Captain Willoughby had found occasion to punish the Tuscarora, in the course of 
his services ; and, as the parties understood each other perfectly well, the former saw 
the improbability of the latter's daring to trifle with him. 

" Where is this land of yours, Nick ?" he inquired, after studying the Indian's coun- 
tenance for a moment. " Where does it lie, what is it like, how much is there of it, 
and how came you to own it ?" 

"Ask him just so, ag'in," said Nick, taking up four twigs, to note down the 
questions seriatim. 

The captain repeated his inquiries, the Tuscarora laying down a stick at each 
separate interrogatory. 



SAUCY NICK. 351 

" Where he be ?" answered Nick, taking up a twig, as a memorandum. " He out 
dere, where he want him, where he say. One day's march from Susquehanna." 

" Well, proceed." 

"What he like? Like laud, to be sure. T'ink he like water! Got some water — 
no too much ; got some land — got no tree — got some tree. Got good sugar-bush — got 
place for wheat and corn." 

" Proceed." 

" How much of him "?" continued Nick, taking up another twig ; " much as he want : 
want little, got him — want more, got him. Want none at all, got none at all ; got what 
he want." 

" Go on." 

"To be sure. How came to own him? How a pale-face come to own America? 
Discover him — ha I Well, Nick discover land down yonder, up dere, over here." 

" Nick, what the devil do you mean by aU this ?" 

" No mean devil at all ; mean land — good laud. Discover him — know where he 
is — catch beaver dere, three, two year. All Nick say true as word of honor; much 
more too." 

"Do you mean it is an old beaver-dam destroyed?" asked the captain, pricking up 
his ears ; for he was too familiar with the woods not to understand the value of such a 
thuig. 

" No destroy — stand up yet — good as ever. Nick dere last season." 

" Why, then, do you tell of it ? Are not the beaver of more value to you than any 
price you may receive for the land ?"' 

" Coteh hmi all, four, two year ago — rest rim away. No find beaver to stay long, 
when Indian once know, two time, where to set he trap. Beaver cunninger 'an pale- 
face — cunning as bear." 

" I begin to comprehend you, Nick. How large do you suppose this pond to be ?" 

"He'm not as big as Lake Ontario. S'pose him smaller — what den? Big enough 
for farm." 

"Does it cover one or two hundred acres, think you? Is it as large as the clearing 
around the fort ?" 

" Big as two, six, four of hun. Take forty skin dere, one season. Little lake ; all 
'e tree gone." 

" And the land around it — is it mountainous and rough, or will it be good for corn ?" 

" All sugar-bush — what you want better ? S'pose you want covn, plant him. S'pose 
you want sugar, 7naJce him." 

Captain Willoughby was struck with this description, and he returned to the 
subject again and again. At length, after extracting all the information he could get 
from Nick, he struck a bargain with the fellow. A surveyor was engaged, and he 
started for the place, under the guidance of the Tuscarora. The result showed that 



352 PAGES AND PIOTTTRES. 

Nick h:id not exaggerated. The pond was found, as lie Lad described it to be, 
covering at least four hundred acres of low bottom-land ; while near three thousand 
acres of higher river-flat, covered with beech and maple, S])read around it for a 
considerable distance. The adjacent mountains, too, were arable, though bold, 
and promised, in tune, to l)ecome a fertile and manageable district. Calculating 
his distances with judgment, the surveyor laid out his metes and bounds in such a 
manner as to include the pond, all the low-land, and about three thousand acres 
of hill, or mountain, making the materials for a very pretty little " patent" of some- 
what more than si.x thousand acres of capital land. lie then collected a few chiefs 
of the nearest tribe, dealt out his rum, tobacco, blankets, wampum, and gunpowder, got 
twelve Indians to make their marks on a l>it of deer-skin, and returned to his employer 
with a map, a field-book, and a deed, by which the Indian title was " extinguished." 
The surveyor received his compensation, and set ofl' on a similar excursion, for a dif- 
ferent employer, and in another direction. Nick got his reward, too, and was well 
satisfied with the transaction. This he afterward called " sellin' beaver, when he all 
run awa}-." 

Furnished with the necessary means. Captain Willoughby now " sued out his 
patent," as it was termed, in due form. Having some influence, the afiliir was soon 
arranged ; the grant was made l)y the governor in council, a massive seal was annexed, 
to a famous sheet of parchment, the signatures were obtained, and " Willoughby's 
Patent" took its place on the records of the colony, as well as on its maj>s. We are 
wrong as respects the latter particular ; it did not take its place on the maps of the 
colony, though it took a place ; the location given for many years afterward being 
some forty or fifty miles too far west. In this peculiarity there was nothing novel, 
the surveys of all new regions being liable to similar trifling mistakes. Thus it was 
that an estate lying within five-and-twenty miles of the city of New York, and in 
which we hapiK'u to have a small interest at this hour, was clijijjed of its fair pro- 
portions, in consequence t)f losing some miles that run over obtrusively iuto another 
colony ; and, within a short distance of the s]50t where we are writing, a " patent" has 
been squeezed entirely out of existence, between the claims of two older grants. 

No such calamity befell "Willoughby's Patent," however. The land was found, 
with all its " marked or hlazed trees," its " heaps of stones," " large butternut 
corners," and " dead oaks." In a word, every thing was as it should be ; even to 
the quality of the soil, the bea\er-pond, and the quantity. As respects the last, the 
colony never gave " struck measure ;" a thousand acres on paper seldom falling 
short of eleven or twelve hundred in soil. In the present instance, the six thousand 
two hundred and forty-six acres of " Willoughby's Patent," were subsequently ascer- 
tained to contain just seven thousand and ninety-two acres of solid ground. 






^^^H^'^-^ 



Cross il vre flid.mv tiphr.alc ccmptn^ioii luaiig na much 
suattOiitA liy my rvupyoiUTig anu aR !■■/ her awn rvatibaMan.. 








XX. 



SATANSTOE. 



In the year 1845 appeared " Satanstoe," a very pleasant book, gi'V'ing us 
pictures of society in the colony of New York, some hundred years earlier. 
The narrative takes the form of an autobiography, purporting to have been 
written by a member of the Littlepage family, living on one of the "Necks" of 
West Chester, on the shores of the Sound, but the proprietor of extensive lands in 
the interior of the province. The reader follows the steps of Cornelius Little- 
page in his visits to New York, his quiet but amusing accounts of the state of 
things in the great capital of the province at that time, in his glimpses of Albany 
and our Dutch ancestors, and goes with him into the wilderness, to Mooseridge, the 
tract of ground to be peopled and worked by the jjroprietor. In reading the 
book, at the first glance we should deem it sim])ly a pleasant look backward at 
town and country, among our forefathers, while the quiet interest thrown about 
the different characters leads us onward, without effort, through some striking 
scenes. Tlie latent object of the writer scarcely appears in this, the first work 
of a connected series of three, relating to the same family and the same tract of 
lands. We are made to see clearly, however, that the task of redeeming Moose- 
ridge from the wilderness, and taking the first steps toward cultivation, was one 
requiring money, forethought, and efiort. In the second work of the series we 
shall find the plot thickening, the cloud of disturbance drawing nearer. The 
name of " Satanstoe" was given to this book in a fit of intense disgust at the 
unmeaning absurdity of the newly-coined word of " Hurl-Gate," which he often 
stigmatized as a piece of " canting corruption." He maintained that the name 
of Hell-Gate should either be left in its original form or entirelv abandoned for 
something new; and Hurl-Gate he conceived a flagrant absurdity, quite unworthy 
of people of common sense. 
45 




DIRCK AND CORNY. 



The spring of the year I was twenty, Dirck and myself paid our first visit to town, 
in the characters of young men. Althougli Satanstoe was not more than five-and- 
twenty miles from New York Ly the way of King's Bridge, the road we alwaj'S 
travelled in order to avoid the ferry, it was by no means as common to visit the capital 
as it has since got to be. I know gentlemen who pass m and out from our neighbor- 
hood, now, as often as once a fortnight, or even once a week ; but thirty years smce 
this was a thuig very seldom done. My dear mother always went to town twice a 
year : in the spring to pass Easter week, and in the autumn to make her winter pur- 
chases. ]My fother usually went down four times, in the course of the twelve months, 
but he had the reputation of a gadabout, and was thought by many people to leave 
home quite as much as he ought to do. As for my grandfather, old age coming on, he 
seldom left home now, unless it were to pay stated visits to certain old brother cam- 
paigners who lived within moderate distances, and with whom he invariably passed 
weeks each summer. 

The visit I have mentioned occurred some time after Easter, a season of the year 
that many of our country families were ui the habit of passing in town, to have the 
benefit of the daily services of Old Trinity, as the Hebrews resorted to Jerusalem to 
kec]) the feast of the Passover. My mother did not go to town this year, on account 
of my fiither's gout, and I was sent to supply her j)lace with my Aunt Legge, who had 
been so long accustomed to have one of the family with her at that season, that I was 



D I R C K AND CORNY. 355 

substituted. Direk had relatives of his own, with whom he staid, aud thus every thing 
was rendered smooth. In order to make a fair start, my friend crossed the Hudson 
the week before, and, after taking breath at Satanstoe for three days, we left the Neck 
for the capital, mounted on a pair of as good roadsters as were to be found in the 
county ; and that is saying a good deal : for the Jlorrises, and De Lanceys, and Van 
Cortlandts all kejjt racers, and sometimes gave us good sport, in the autumn, over tha 
comity course. West Chester, to say no more than she deserved, was a county with 
a spirited gentry, and one of which no colony need be ashamed. 

My mother was a tender-hearted parent, and full of anxiety in behalf of an only 
child. She knew that travelling always has more or less of hazard, and was desirous 
Ave should be ofl' betimes, in order to make certain of our reaching town before the night 
set in. Highway robbers. Heaven be praised ! w'ere then, and are stUl, unknown to 
the colonies ; but there were other dangers that gave my excellent parent much 
concern. All the bridges were not considered safe ; the roads were, and are yet, very 
circuitous, and it was possible to lose one's way ; while it was said persons had been 
known to pass the night on Harlem common — an uninhabited waste that lies some 
seven or eight miles on our side of the city. My mother's first care, therefore, was to 
get Dirck and myself olf early in the morning; in order to do which she rose with the 
Ught, gave us our breakfasts immediately afterward, and thus enabled us to quit 
Satanstoe just as the sun had burnished the eastern sky with its tints of flame-color. 

Dirck was in high good-humor that morning, and, to own the truth. Corny did not 
feel the depression of spirits which, according to the laws of propriety, possibly ought to 
have attended the first really free departure of so youthful an adventurer from beneath 
the shadows of the paternal roof. We went on our way laughing and chatting like two 
girls just broke loose from boarding-school. I had never known Dirck more communi- 
cative, and I got certain new insights into his feelings, expectations, and prospects, as 
we rode along the colony's highway that morning, that afterward proved to be matters 
of much interest with us both. We had not got a mile from the chimney-tops of 
Satanstoe, ere my friend broke forth as follows : 

"I suppose you have heard, Corny, what the two old gentlemen have been at, 
lately?" 

"Your father and mine? I have not heard a syllable of any thing new." 

"They have been suing out, before the Governor and Council, a joint claim to that 
tract of land they bought of the Mohawks, the last time they were out together on 
service, in the colony militia." 

I ought to mention, here, that though my predecessors had made l)ut few campaigns 
in the regular army, each had made several in the more humble cajsacity of a militia 
officer. 

" This is news to me, Du'ck," I answered. " Why should the old gentlemen have 
been so sly about such a thing ?" 



35G PAGES AND PICTURES. 

" I cannot tell you, lest they thought silence the best -way to keep ofl* the Yankees. 
You know my fother has a great dread of a Yankee's getting a finger into any of his 
bargains. He says the Yankees are the locusts of the west." 

"But liow came you to know any thing about it, Dirck?" 

" I am no Yankee, Corny." 

" And your father told you, on the strength of this recommendation ?" 

" He told me, as he tells me most things that he thinks it best I should know. 
We smoke together, and then we talk together." 

"I would learn to smoke, too, if I thought I should get any useful information by 
so doing." 

"Dere is much to be I'arnt from ter pipe!" said Dirck, dropping into a slightly 
Dutch accent, as frequently happened with him, when his mind took a secret direction 
toward Holland, though in general he spoke English quite as well as I did myself, and 
vastly better than that miracle of taste, and learning, and virtue, and piety, Mr. Jason 
Newcome, A.B., of Yale, and prospective president of that or some other institution. 

" So it would seem, if your fother is telling you secrets all the time you are smoking 
together. But where is this land, Dirck ?" 

" It is in the Mohawk country — or, rather, it is in the country near the Hampshire 
Grants, and at no great distance from the Mohawk country." 

" And how much may there be of it ?" 

" Forty thousand acres ; and some of it of good, rich flats, they say, such as a 
Dutchman loves." 

" And your father and mine have purchased all this land in company, you say — 
share and share alike, as the lawyers call it." 

"Just so." 

"Pray how much did they pay for so large a tract of land?" 

Dirck took time to answer this question. He first drew from his breast a pocket- 
book, which he opened as well as he could under the motion of his roadster, for neither 
of us abated his speed, it being indispensable to reach town before dark. My friend 
succeeded at length in putting his hand on the paper he wanted, which he gave to me. 

" There," he said, " that is a list of the articles paid to the Indians, which I have 
copied, and then there have been several hundred pounds of fees paid to the Governor 
and his officers." 

I read from the list as follows, the words coming out by jerks, as the trotting of 
my horse permitted : " Fifty blankets, each with yellow strings and yellow trinmiings ; 
ten iron pots, four gallons each ; forty pounds of gunpowder ; seven muskets ; twelve 
pounds of small beads ; ten strings of wampum ; fifty gallons of rum, pure Jamaica, 
and of high proof; a score of jews-harps, and three dozen first quality Enghsh-made 
tomahawks." 

"Well, Dirck," I cried, as soon as through reading, "this is no great matter to 



DIRCK AND CORNY. 357 

give for forty thousand acres of land, in the colony of New York. I dare say a 
hundred pounds currency ($250) would buj^ every thing here, even to the rum and 
the first quality of English-naade tomahawks." 

" Ninety-six pounds, thirteen shillings, seven pence 't'ree fart'in's' was the footing of 
the whole bill," answ ered Dirk deliberately, preparing to light his pipe ; for he could 
smoke very conveniently while trotting no faster than at the rate of six miles the hour. 

" I do not find that dear for forty thousand acres ; I suppose the muskets, and rum, 
and other things, were manufactured expressly for the Indian trade." 

"Not tihey, Corny: you know how it is with the old gentlemen; they are as 
honest as the day." 

" So much the better for them, and so much the better for us ! But what is to be 
done with this land, now they own it ?" 

Direk did not answer, until we had trotted twenty rods ; for by this time the pipe 
was at work, and the moment the smoke was seen he kept his eye on it, until he saw 
a bright light in front of his nose. 

" The first thing will be to find it, Corny. When a patent is signed and delivered, 
then you must send forth some proper person to find the land it covers. I have heard 
of a gentleman who got a grant of ten thousand acres, five years since ; and though 
he has had a hunt for it every summer since, he has not been able to find it yet. To 
be sure, ten thousand acres is a small object to look for, in the woods." 

" And our fathers intend to find this land as soon as the season opens ?" 

" Not so fiist. Corny ; not so fost ! That was the scheme of your flither's Welsh 
blood, but mine takes matters more deliberately. ' Let us wait until next year,' he 
said, ' and then we can send the boys. By that time, too, the war will take some sort 
of a shape, and we shall know better how to care for the children.' The subject has 
been fixirly talked over between the two patentees, and we are to go early next sjiring, 
not this." 

The idea of land-hunting was not in the least disagreeable to me ; nor was it un- 
pleasant to think that I stood in reversion, or as heir, to twenty thousand acres of land, 
in addition to those of Satanstoe. Direk and I talked the matter over, as we trotted 
on, until both of us began to regret that the expedition was so for in perspective. 

The war to which Direk alluded had broken out a few months before our visit to 
town : a Mr. Washington, of Virginia — the same who has since become so celebrated 
as the Colonel Washington of Braddock's defeat, and other events at the south — 
having been captured, with a party of his men, in a small work thrown up in the 
neighborhood of the French, somewhere on the tributaries of the Ohio — a i-iver that 
is known to run into the Mississippi, a vast distance to the west. I knew very little 
then, nor do I know much now, of these remote regions, beyond the fact that there are 
such places, and that they are sometimes visited by detachments, war-parties, hunters, 
and other adventurers from the colonies. To me, it seems scarce worth fighting about 



358 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

such distant and wild territory ; for ages and ages must elapse before it can be of any 
service for the jJtiiTO*^^'^ of civilization. Both Dirck and myself regretted that the 
summer would be likely to go by without our seeing the enemy ; for we came of 
families that were commonly enijilojed on such occasions. We thought both our 
fathers might be out ; though even that was a pouit that still remained under dis- 
cussion. 

We dined and baited at Kiiigsbridge, intending to sup in town. While the dinner 
was cooking, Dirck and I walked out on the heights that overlook the Hudson ; for 
I knew less of this noble ri\er than I wished to know of it. We conversed as we 
walked ; and my companion — who knew the river much better than myself, haraig 
many occasions to pass u]) and down it, between the village of Haverstraw and town, 
in his frequent visits to his relatives below — gave me some useful information. 

" Look here. Corny,'' saiil Dirck, after betrayhig a good deal of desire to obtain a 
view of some object in the distance, along the river-side — "Look here. Corny, do you 
see yonder house, in the little bay below us, with the lawn that extends down to the 
water, and that noble orchard behind it ?" 

I saw the ol)ject to which Dirck alluded. It was a house that stood near the river, 
but sheltered and secluded, with the lawn and orchard as described ; though at the 
distance of some two or three miles all the beauties of the spot could not be dis- 
covered, and many of them had to be received on the faith of my companion's ad- 
miration. StiU I saw very plainly all the princijial objects named ; and, among others, 
the house, the orchard, and the lawn. The building was of stone — as is common with 
most of the better sort of houses in the ccumtry — ^\•as long, irregular, and had that 
air of solid comfort about it which it is usual to see in buildings of that description. 
The walls were not whitewashed, according to the lively tastes of our Dutch fellow- 
colonists, who ajipear to expeml all their vivacity in the pipe and the brush, but were 
left in their native gray — a circumstance that rendered the form and dimensions of 
the structure a little less distinct, at a first glance, than they might otherwise have 
proved. As I gazed at the spot, however, I began to fancy it a charm, to find the 
picture thus sobered down ; and found a pleasure in dramng the different angles, and 
walls, and chimneys, and roofs, from this background, by means of the organ of sight. 
On the whole, I thought the little sequestered bay, the wooded and rocky shores, the 
small but well-distributed lawn, the orchard, with all the otlier similar accessories, 
formed together one of the prettiest places of the sort I had ever seen. Thinking 
so, I was not slow in saying as much to my comjianion. I was thought to have some 
taste in these matters, and had been consulted on the suliject of laying out grounds 
by one or two neighbors in tlie county. 

" Whose house is it, Dirck "?" I inquired ; " and how came you to know any thuig 
about it ?" 

" That is Lilacsbush," answered my friend. 




i?'l answered 
lid nf the III JjiUl 



Nl W ■(< UK 




XXI. 



THE CHAINBEARER. 



A FEW montlis after the publication of " Satanstoe," appeared "Tlie Chain- 
bearer," an antobiograph}- like the first work, and jjurporting to be written by the 
son of Cornelius and Anneke. The history of the tract of land at Mooseridge 
is continued, and in following the steps of Mordaunt Littlepage, the son of the 
proprietor, who goes there for the purpose of carrying on the improvements of the 
border colony, we find " Squatters'' already in possession, and in the lawless 
proceedings of Thousandacres and his party are made to note the fii'st working 
of the disorderly spirit of "Anti-Rent." 

'' Every clu'onicle of manners has a certain value," says the writer. " Wlien 
customs are connected with principles, in their origin, development, or end, such 
records have a double importance, and it is because we think we see such a con- 
nection between the facts and incidents of the Littlepage Manuscripts, and certain 
theories of our own time, that we give the former to the world. It is, perhaps, 
a faidt of your professed historian to refer too much to philosophical agencies, and 
too little to those which are more humble. * * * ' Satanstoe' and ' Tlic 
Chainbearer' relate directly to the gi-eat Xew York question of the day, Anti- 
Rentism, which qxiestion will be found to be pretty fully laid bare in the third and 



360 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



last book of the series. We conceive that no apology is necessary for treating 
the subject of Anti-Rentisni witli the utmost frankness. Agreeably to our view 
of the matter, the existence of true liberty among us, the perpetuity of the 
institutions, and the safety of public morals, ai-e all dependent on jJutting down 
wholly and absolutely the false and dishonest theories and statements that liave 
been boldly advanced in connection with this subject. In our view, Kew York 
is at this moment a disgraced state ; and her disgrace arises from the fact tliat 
her laws are trampled imder foot, without any efforts — at all commensurate with 
the object — being made to enforce them. If words and professions can save the 
cliaracter of a community, all may yet be well ; but if states, like individuals, 
are to be judged by their actions, and the ' tree is to be known by its fruit,' 
God help lis ! For ourselves, we conceive that true patriotism consists in laying 
bare every thing like public vice, and in calling such things by their right names. 
It is time that they mIio have nut been afraid to praise, when praise was merited, 
should not shrink from the office of censuring, when the want of timel}' warn- 
ings may be one cause of the most fatal evils. The great practical defect of in- 
stitutions like ours, is the circumstance that ' what is everybody's business is 
nobody's business' — a neglect that gives to the activity of the rogue a very 
dangeroiis ascendancy over the more dilatory correctives of the honest man." 

Tlie narrative of "The Chainbearer" is decidedly interesting, while the char- 
acters are all well drawn ; honest Andries Coejemans, the Chainbearer, is excel- 
lent in his way, and Ursula, his pretty niece, is quite charming, so wai*m-hearted, 
and natural, and womanly; the wilyNewcome, and the rude Tliousandacres, with 
his brood, also receive full justice at the writer's hands, and that \vitliout the 
least exaggeration. 





THE CHAINBEAEER. 

Day came as usual, but it did not find these squatters in their beds. They appeared 
with the dawn, and most of them were at work ere the broad light of the sun was shed 
on the forest. Most of the men went down into the river, and busied themselves, as 
we supposed, for we could not see them, in the water, with the apples of their eyes, 
their boards. Old Thousandacres, however, chose to remain near his habitation, keeping 
two or tliree well-grown lads about him; probably adverting in his mind to the vast 
importance it was to all of his race to make sure of his prisoners. I could see, by the 
thoughtful manner of the old squatter, as he lounged aroimd his mUl, among his swine, 
and walked through his potatoes, that his mind wavered greatly as to the course he 
ought to pursue, and that he was sorely troubled. How long this perplexity of feeling 
would have continued, and to what it might have led, it is hard to say, had it not been 
cut short by an incident of a very unexpected nature, and one that called for more im- 
mediate decision and action. I shall relate the occurrence a little in detail. 

The day was considerably advanced, and, Thousandacres and the girl who then 
watched the store-house excepted, everybody was occupied. Even Susquesus had 
picked np a piece of birch, and, with a melancholy countenance, that T fancied was 
shadowing forth the future life of a half-ci\'ilized red man, was attempting to make a 
broom with a part of a knife that he had found in the building ; while I was sketching, 
on a leaf of my pocket-book, the mill and a bit of mountain-laud that served it for a back- 
ground. Thousandacres, for the first time that morning, drew near our prison, and 
spoke to me. His countenance was severe, yet I could see he was much troubled. As 
I afterward ascertained, Tobit had been urging on him the necessity of putting both 
myself and the Indian to death, as the only probable means that offered to save the 
lumber. 
46 



362 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

" Young man," said Thousandacres, " you have stolen on me and mine like a thief 
at night, and you ought to expect the fate of one. How in natui-' can you expect men 
will give up their hard 'arnin's without a struggle and a fight for 'em? You tempt 
me more than I ean liear." 

I felt the fearful import of these words ; but liumaii nature revolted at the thought 
of being cowed into any submission, or terms tmworthy of my character or late pro- 
fession. I was on the point of making an answer in entire consonance with this feeling, 
when, in looking through the chinks of my prison to fasten an eye on my old tyrant, I 
saw Chaiiibearer advancing directly toward the store-house, and already within a 
hundred yards of us. The manner in which I gazed at this apparition, attracted the 
attention of the squatter, who turned and first saw the unexpected visitor who ap- 
proached. At the next minute Andries was at his side. 

" So, T'ousautaeres, I fint you here," exclaimed Chainbearer. " It's a good many 
years since you and I met, and I'm sorry we meet now on such pusiness as t'is !" 

" The meetin's of your own seekin', Chainbearer. .I've neither invited nor wished 
for your company." 

" I p'lieve you wit' all my heart. No, no ; you wish for no chains and no chain- 
pearers, no surfeyors and no compasses, no lots and no owners, too, put a squatter. 
You and I haf not to make an acquaintance for t'e first time, Thousaudacres, after 
knowin' each other for fifty years." 

" Yes, we do know each other for fifty years ; and seein' that them years haven't 
sarved to bring us of a mind on any one thing, we should have done better to keep 
apart than to come together now." 

" I haf come for my poy, squatter — my nople poy, whom you haf illegally arrestet, 
and mate a prisoner, in the teet' of all law and justice. Gif me pack Mortaunt Little- 
page, and you'll soon be rit of my company." 

" And how do you know that I've ever seen your ' Mortaunt Littlepage ?' What 
have I to do with your boy, that you seek him of me ? Go your ways, go your ways, 
old Chainbearer, and let me and mine alone. The world's wide enough for us both, I 
tell you ; and why should you be set on to your own ondohi', by runnin' ag'in a breed 
like that which comes of Aaron and Prudence Timberman ?" 

" I care not for you or your preet," answered old Andries, sternly. " You've darest 
to arrest my frient, against law and right, and I come to demant his Uberty, or to warn 
you of the consequences." 

" Don't press me too far, Chainbearer; don't press me too far. There's desp'rate 
crittur's in tliis clearin', and them that isn't to be driven from their righteous 'arnin's 
by any that carry chains or p'int compasses. Go your way, I tell ye, and leave us to 
gather the harvest that comes of the seed of our own sowin' and plantin'." 

" Ye'll gat'er it, ye'll gat'er it all, T'ousantacres — you and yours. Ye've sown t'e 
wint, and ye'll reap t'e whirlwints, as my niece, Dus Malpone, has reat to me often, of 



THE CHAINBEARER. 363 

late. Ye'll gat'er in all vMir harvest, tares aiit all, vf will ; and t'at sooner t'an ye 
t'ink for." 

"I wish I'd never seen the face of the man ! Go away, I tell you, Chainbearer, and 
leave me to my hard 'arnin's." 

"Earniirs! Do yon call it earnin's to chop and pillage on anot'er's lants, and to 
cut his trees into logs, and to saw his logs into poarts, and sell his poarts to speculators, 
and gif no account of your ])rofits to t'e rightful owner of it all? Call you such t'ievin' 
righteous earnin's ?" 

"Thief back ag'in, old nieasurer! Do not the sweat of the brow, long and hard 
days of toil, and acliiu' bones, and hungry bellies, give a man a claim to the fruit of his 
labors '?" 

"T'at always hast peen your failin', T'ousantacres ; t'at's t'e very p'int on which 
you've proken town, man. You pegin wit' your morals, at t'e startin' place t'at's most 
convenient to yourself and your plunterin' crew, instead of going pack to t'e laws of 
your Lort ant Master. Reat what t'e Almighty Got of heaven ant 'art' salt unto Moses, 
and you'll find t'at you've not turnet over leafs enough of your piple. You may chop 
ant you may hew, you niay haul ant you may saw, from t'is tay to t'e ent of time, ant 
you'll nel'er pe any nearer to t'e right t'an you are at t'is moment. T'e man t'at stai-ts 
on his journey wit' his face in t'e wrong tirectiou, olt T'ousantacres, will nefer reach 
its ent; t'ough he trafel till t'e sweat rolls from his poty like water. You pegin wrong, 
olt man, and you must ent wrong." 

I saw the cloud gathering in the countenance of the squatter, and anticipated the 
outbreaking of the tempest tliat followed. Two fiery tempers had met, and, divided as 
they were in opinions and practice, by the vast chasm that separates principles from 
expediency, right from wrong, honesty from dishonesty, and a generous sacrifice of self 
to support the integrity of a noble spirit, from a homage to self that confounded and 
overshadowed all sense of right, it was not possible that they should separate without 
a collision. Unable to answer Chainbearer's reasoning, the squatter resorted to the 
argument of force. He seized my old friend l>y the throat, and made a violent effort to 
hurl him to the earth. I must do this man of violence an<l evil tlie justice to say, that 
I do not think it was his wish at that moment to have assistance ; but the instant the 
struggle commenced the conch blew, and it w.as easy to predict that many minutes 
would not elapse before the sons of Thousandaeres would be pouring in to the rescue. 
I would have given a world to be able to throw down the walls of my prison, and rush 
to the aid of my sterling old friend. As for Susquesus, he must have felt a lively 
interest in what was going on, but he rem.ained as immovable, and seemingly as un- 
moved, as a rock. 

Andries Coejemans, old as he was — and it will be remembered he, too, had seen 
his threescore years and ten, was not a man to be taken by the throat with impunity. 
Thovisandacres met with a similar assault, and a struggle followed that was surprisingly 



364 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

fierce and well contested, considering that both the combatants had completed the 
ordinal'}' limits of the time of man. The squatter gained a slight advantage in the sud- 
denness and vigor of his assault ; but Chainbearer was still a man of formidable 
physical power. In his prime, few had been his equals; and Thousandacres soon had 
reason to know that he had met more than his match. For a single instant Chain- 
bearer gave ground, then he rallied, made a desperate effort, and his adversary was 
hurled to the ground with a violence that rendered him, for a short time, insensible ; 
old Andries, himself, continuing erect as one of the neighboring pines, red in the face, 
frowning, and more severe in aspect than I remembered ever to have seen him before, 
even in battle. 

Instead of pushing his advantage, Chainbearer did not stir a foot after he had 
thrown off his assailant. There he remained, lofty in bearing, proud, and stern. He 
had reason to believe no one was a witness of his prowess, but I could see that the old 
man had a soldier's feeling .at his victory. At this instant I tirst let him know my close 
proximity by speaking. 

" Fly — for your life take to the woods, Chainbearer," I called to him through the 
chinks. " That conch will bring all the tribe of the squatters upon you in two or three 
minutes ; the young men are close at hand, in the stream below the mill, at work on 
the logs, and have only the banks to climb." 

" Got be praiset ! Mortauut, my tear poy, you are not injuret, t'en ! I will open t'e 
toor of your prison, and we will retreat toget'er." 

My remonstrances were vain. Andries came round to the door of the store-house, 
and made an effort to force it open. Tliat was not easy, however, for, opening out- 
ward, it was barred with iron, and secured by a stout lock. Chainbearer would not 
listen to my remonstrances, but he looked around him for some uistrument by means 
of wliich he could either break the lock or draw the staple. As the mill was at no 
great distance, aw.ay he went in that direction, in quest of what he wanted, leaydng me 
in despair at his persevering friendship. Remonstrance was useless, however, and I 
was compelled to await the result in silence. 

Chainbearer was still a very active man. Nature, early training, sobriety of life 
in the mahi, and a good constitution, had done this much f(ir him. It was but a moment 
before I saw him in the mill, looking for the crow-liar. Tliis he soon found, and he 
was on his way to the store-house, in order to apply this powerful lever, when Tobit 
came in sight, followed by all the brethren, rushing up the bank like a pack of hounds 
in close pursuit. I shouted to my friend again to fly, but he came on steadily toward 
my prison, bent on the single object of setting me free. AH this time Thousandacres 
was senseless, his head having fallen against a corner of the building. Chainbearer 
was so intent on his purpose that, though he must have seen the crowd of young men, 
no less than six in number, including well-grown lads, that was swiftly advancing 
toward him, he did not bestow the least attention on them. He was actuallv busied 



THE C H A I X B E A R E R . 



366 



with endeavoring to force the bar in between the hasp and the post, when his arms 
were seized behind, and lie was made a prisoner. 

Chainliearer was no sooner apprised of the iiselessness of resistance tlian he ceased 
to make any. As I afterward learned from liimself, he had determined to become 
a captive with me, if lie could not succeed in setting me free. Tobit was the 
first to lay hands on the Chainbearer ; and so rapidly were things conducted, for it hap- 
pened this man had the key, that the door was unbarred, opened, and old Andries was 
thrust into the cage, almost in the twinkling of an eye. The rapidity of the movement 
was doubtless aided by the acquiescent feeling that liappened to be uppermost in the 
mind of Chainbearer, at that precise moment. 

No sooner was tliis new prisoner secured, than the sons of Thousandaeres raised 
their father's body, and bore it to his own residence, which was but a few yards 
distant. Old and young, both sexes and all ages, collected in that building, and there 
was an hour during which we ajipeared to l)e forgotten. The sentinel, who was a son 
of Tobit' s, deserted his post ; and even Lowiny, who had been hovering in sight of the 
store-house the whole morning, seemed to have lost her interest in us. I was too much 
engaged with my old friend, and had too many questions to ask and to answer, how- 
ever, to care much for this desertion ; which, moreover, was natural enough for the 
circumstances. 





XXII. 



THE REDSiaNS. 



In " The Redskins" we have the third and last work of the Anti-Rent series, 
in wliich the crisis is reached, and the cupidity and lawless spirit of the dis- 
orderly faction appear in their true light. " You well know that I am no advo- 
cate for any government but that which is founded on popular right, protected 
from popular al)uses," were words which Mr. Fenimore Cooper had written many 
years earlier. And now, in the hour of danger, to aid in ])r()tecting tliese rights 
of the people, against their abuse by the evil-minded among themselves, he held 
to be a high duty of every honest, and generous, and intelligent citizen. " As 
democrats, we protest most solemnly against such barefaced frauds, such palpable 
cupidity and covetousness being termed any thing l>ut what they ai"e. Democ- 
racy is a lofty and noble sentiment. It is just, and treats all men alike. It is 
not the friend of a canting les^jislation, but meaning right, dare act directly. 
There is no greater delusion than to suppose that true democracy has any thing 
in comiiKin with injustice or roguery. Xor is it any apology for anti-r'entism, in 
any of its aspects, to say that leasehold tenures are inexpedient. The most 
expedient thing in existence is to do right. Were there no other objection to 
this anti-rent movement than its corrupting influence, that alone should set every 
wise man in the comnnmitv firmly against it." 




NSW YORK WAT-"" 



THE KEDSKINS. 



367 



Mr. Cooper's peciunary interL-st in the (|uestioii was very sliglit indeed ; but 
his was the far-seeing eye which in every illegal public act sees the danger which 
threatens eventually every family hearth-stone in the country. Acts of public 
violence, which may boeonie justitiable under other forms of government, he 
considered as absolutely inexcusable in a democracy, without even the most 
feeble shadow of reason to support them. During those anti-rent disturbances, 
there was a degree of ferment in Otsego county, but no open defiance of law. 
There were two or three small pieces of artillery, kept in a very dilapidated 
arsenal on the lake-shore, and used hitherto solely for rejoicing and political 
victories ; these were removed for a time from the village, by orders from Alljany, 
lest they should be seized by the anti-renters of the adjoining county of Delaware. 
Ammunition also passed through the valley on the way to Delhi. But beyond 
these few preliminary steps of caution, the good people of Otsego escaped all 
overt acts of disturbance. The victory which the honest supporters of the laws 
gained over the reljellious faction in Delaware county, which was placed for a 
time under martial law, will be remembered by the reader. The sp)irit of 
violence and insubordination was subdued. That it may, in every outbreak, be 
met and controlled with firnmess, with wisdom, with upright impartiality and 
justice, must be the heartfelt wish of every honest citizen of the republic. 

The legal knowledge and skill shown by Mr. Cooper in this series of works 
has been declared remarkable by distinguished jurists of the country. He was 
partial to legal reading, and often studied some qi;estions of that nature with 
deep interest, and without any other object than the pleasure of the investigation 
itself. 





N 



' ' ^^^^f 




REDSKINS. 



The following day was Sunday. I did not rise until nine, and when I withdrew 
the curtains and opened the shutters of my window, and looked out upon the lawn, 
and the fields beyond it, and the blue void that canopied all, I thought a lovelier 
day, or one more in harmony with the tranquil character of the whole scene, never 
shone from the heavens. I threw up the sash, and breathed the morning air which 
tilled my dressing-room, pregnant with the balms and odors of the hundred sweet- 
smelling flowers and plants that embellished the shrubberies. The repose of the 
Sabbath seemed to rest on man and beast ; the bees and hmnming-birds that buzzed 
about the flowers, even at their usual pursuits, seemed as if conscious of the sanctity 
of the day. I think no one can be insensible to the difference there is between a 
Sabbath in the country and any other day of the week. Most of this, doubtless, is 
the simple consequence of abstaining from labor ; but, connected with the history of 
the festival, its usual observances, and the holy calm that appears to reign around, it is 
so very obvious and impressive, that a Sunday, in a mild day in June, is to me ever a 
delicious resting-place, as a mere poetical pause in the bustling and turmoil of this 
world's time. Such a day was that which succeeded the night through which we 
had just ]>assed, and it came most opportunely to soothe the spirits, tranquillize the 
apprehensions, and afford a moment for sober reflection. 

There lay the smouldering ruins of the barn, it is true ; a blackened monument of a 
wicked deed ; but the mood which had produced this waste and wrong appeared to 
have passed away ; and, in all other respects, far and near, the fiirms of Ravensnest 
had never spread themselves before the eye in colors more in consonance with the 



THE REDSKINS. 3(39 

general benevolence of a bountiful nature. For a moment, as I gazed on the broad 
view, I felt all my earlier interests in it revive, and am not ashamed to own that a 
profound feeling of gratitude to God came over me when I recollected it was by his 
providence I was born the heir to such a scene, instead of having my lot cast among 
the serfs and dependents of other regions. 

After standing at the window a miinite, in contemplation of that pleasing view, I 
drew back, suddenly and painfully conscious of the character and extent of the com- 
bination that existed to rob nio of my i-ights in it. America no longer seemed 
America to my eyes ; but, in place of its ancient submission to the law, its quick dis- 
tinction bewteen right and wrong, its sober and discriminating liberty, which eqiuilly 
avoided submission to the injustice of power and the excesses of popular delusion, 
here had been substituted the rapacity of the plunderer, rendered formidable by the 
insidious manner hi which it was interwoven with political machinery, and the 
truckling of the wretches entrusted with authority — men who were plaj"iiig into the 
hands of demagogues, solely hi order to secure majorities to perpetuate their own 
influence. Was, then, the state really so corrupt as to lend itself to projects as base 
as those openly maintained by the anti-rentci-s ? Far from it : four men out of five, 
if not a larger proportion, must be, and indeed are, sensible of the ills that their 
success would entail on the community, and would lift up heart and hand to-morrow 
to put them down totally and without pity ; but they have made themselves slaves 
of the lam]) ; have enlisted in the ranks of party, and dare not oppose their leaders, 
who wield them as Napoleon wielded his masses, to further private \dews, apostrophiz- 
ing and affecting a homage to liberty all the while ! Such is the history of man ! 

When the family met in the breakfast-room, a singular tranquilhty prevailed among 
us. As for my grandmother, I knew her spirit and early experience, and was not so 
much surprised to find her calm and reasonable ; but these qualities seemed imparted 
to her four young companions also. Patt could laugh, and yield to her buoyant spirits, 
just the same as if nothing had occurred, while my uncle's other wards maintained a 
lady-like quiet, that denoted any thing but apprehension. Mary Warren, however, 
surprised me by her air and deportment. There she sat, in her jilace at the table, 
looking, if possible, the most feminine, gentle, and timid of the four. I could scarcely 
believe that the blushing, retiring, modest, pretty daughter of the rector could be the 
prompt, decided, and clear-headed young girl who had been of so much service to me 
the past night, and to whose coolness and discretion, indeed, we w^ere all indebted for 
(he roof that was over om* heads, and some of us, most probably, for our lives. 

Notwithstanding this air of tranquillity, the breakfast was a silent and thoughtful 
meal. Most of the conversation was betw^een my imcle and grandmother, and a portion 
of it related to the disposal of the prisoners. There was no magistrate within several 
miles of the Nest, but those who were tamted with anti-rentism ; and to carry Seneca 
and his companion before a justice of the peace of this character, would be, in effect, 
47 



370 PAGES AND PIOTURES. 

to let them go at large. Nominal bail would be taken, and it is more than probable 
the constable employed would have suffered a rescue, did they even deem it necessary 
to go through this joarade of performing their duties. My uncle, consequently, adopted 
the following plan : he had caused the two incendiaries to be transferred to the old 
farm-house, whicli happened to contain a perfectly dry and empty cellar, and which 
had much of the security of a dungeon, without the iisu.al defects of obscurity and 
dampness. The red-men had assumed the office of sentinels, one having his station 
at the door, Avhile another watched near a window which admitted the light, while it 
was scarcely large enough to permit the liuman body to squeeze through it. The inter- 
jireter had received instructions from the agent to respect the Christian Sabljath ; and 
no movement being contemplated for the day, this little duty just suited their lounging, 
idle habits, when in a state of rest. Food and water, of course, liad not been for- 
gotten ; and there my uncle Ro had left that portion of the business, intending to 
have the delinquents carried to a distant magistrate, one of the judges of the county, 
early on Monday morning. As for the disturbers of the past night, no signs of them 
were any longer visible ; and there being little extensive cover near the Nest, no ap- 
prehension was felt of any surprise. 

We were still at breakfast, when the tone of St. Andrew's bell came floating, 
plaintively, through the air, as a summons to j)repare ourselves for the services of the 
day. It was little more tlian a mile to the church, and the younger ladies expressed a 
desire to walk. My grandmother, attended by her son, therefore, alone used the 
carriage, while we young people went off" in a body, on foot, half an hour before the 
ringing of the second bell. Considering the state of the country, and the history of 
the past night, I was astonished at my own indifference on this occasion, no less than 
at that of my charming companions ; nor was it long before I gave utterance to the 
feeling. 

" This America of ours is a queer place, it must be admitted," I cried, as we crossed 
the lawn to take a foot-path that would lead us, by pleasant pastures, quite to the 
church-door, without entering the highway, except to cross it once ; " here we have 
the whole neighborhood as tranquil as if crime never disturbed it, though it is not 
yet a dozen hours since riot, arson, and perhaps murder, were in the contenrplation 
of hundreds of those who live on every side of us. The cliange is wonderful !" 

" But, you will remember it is Sunday, Hugh," put in Patt. " All summer, when 
Simday has come, we have had a respite from disturbances and fears. In this part of 
the country, the people are too religious to think of desecrating the Sabbath by vio- 
lence and armed bands. The anti-renters would lose more than they would gain by 
pursuing a different course." 

I had little or no difficulty in believmg this, it being no imusual tiling, among us, 
to find observances of this nature clinging to the habits of thousands, long after the 
devout feeling which had first instilled it into the race has become extinct. Some- 



THE BEDSKIXS. 



371 



thing very like it jirevails in other countries, and among even higher and more 
intellectual classes, where it is no unusual thing to find the most profound outward 
respect manifested toward the altar and its rites, by men who live in the hourly neglect 
of the first and jj'ainest commands of the decalogue. TVe are not alone, therefore, in 
this Pharisaical spirit, which exists, in some mode or other, wherever man himself is to 
be found. 




XXIII. 

JACK TIER. 



This is another tale of the sea — a very interesting book — full of original inci- 
dent, the scene being laid in the Gulf of Mexico. The book was at first called 
Rose Budd, from the young girl of that name who plays an important part in the 
narrative, and was published in "Graham's Magazine." Wliile writing it, the 
author was also occupied with a series of naval biographies, the lives of distin- 
guished officers of the American marine, many of whom had been his own mess- 
mates and personal friends in early life. Tlie character of Jack Tier is quite 
original, and very good. There are hivcly heroines, of ancient times, figuring, 
in the guise of page or squire, in many a ballad and romance of the days of 
chivalry ; but a plain, homely, hard-working creature, following a very indif- 
ferent sort of husband aboiit the world, iinder the garb, and doing the work of a 
common sailor of our own times, is not exactly the personage one would look for 
as a heroine of romance. And yet, as we close this spirited and original tale, we 
feel a regard, and even a sort of aflection for Jack, as we leave her, once more clad 
in womanly garments, by the side of her dying husband. The incidents connected 
with the sea, it is scarcely necessary to observe, are strikingly graphic and spirited. 



s^^' 




It is seldom that man is required to make an exertion as desperate and appalling, 
in all its circumstances, as that on which Harry Mulford was now bent. The night 
was starlight, it was true, and it was possible to see objects near by with tolerable 
distinctness ; still, it was midnight, and the gloom of that hour rested on the face of 
the sea, lending its solemn mystery and obscurity to the other trjing features of the 
undertaking. Then there was the uncertainty whether it was the boat at all of which 
he was in pursuit ; and, if the boat, it might drift away from him as fast as he 
could foUow it. Xevertheless, the perfect conviction that, without some early succor, 
the party on the wreck, including Rose Budd, must inev-itably perish, stimiUated him 
to proceed, and a passing feeling of doubt, touching the prudence of his course, that 
came over the young mate, when he was a few yards from the wreck, vanished under 
a vivid renewal of this last conviction. On he swam, therefore, riveting his eye on 
the " thoughtful star" that guided his course, and keeping his mind as tranquil as 
possible, in order that the exertions of his body might be the easier. 

Mulford was an excellent swimmer. The want of food was a serious obstacle to 
his making one of his best efforts, but, as yet, he was not very sensible of any great 
loss of strength. Understanding fully the necessity of swimming easily, if he would 
swim long, he did not throw out all his energy at first, but made the movements of 
his limbs as regular, continued, and skilful as possible. Xo strength was thrown away, 
and his progress was in proportion to the prudence of this manner of proceeding. For 
some twenty minutes he held on his course, in this way, when he began to experience 



374 PAGES AXD PICTURES. 

n little of tluit weariness which is apt to accompany an unremitted use of the same 
set of muscles, in a monotonous and undeviating mode. Accustomed to all the 
resources of his art, he turned on his back, for the double purpose of relieving his 
arms for a minute, and of getting a glimpse of the wreck, if possible, in order to 
ascertain the distance he had overcome. Swim long in this new manner, however, 
he could not with prudence, as the star was necessary in order to keep the direct line 
of his course. It may be well to explain to some of our readers that, though the 
surface of the ocean may be like glass, as sometimes really happens, it is never abso- 
lutely free from the long, undulating motion that is known by the name of a " ground 
swell." This swell, on the present occasion, was not very heavy, but it was sufficient 
to place our young mate, at moments, between two dark mounds of water, that 
limited his view in either direction to some eighty or a hundred yards ; then it 
raised him on the summit of a rounded wave, that enabled him to see far as his eye 
could reach under that obscure light. Profiting by this advantage, Mulford now 
looked behind him, in quest of the wreck, but uselessly'. It might have been in the 
trough, while he was thus on the summit of the waves ; or it might be that it floated 
so low as to be totally lost to the view of one whose head was scarcely above the 
surface of the water. For a single instant, the young man felt a chill at his heart, as 
he fancied that the wreck had already sunk ; but it passed away when he recalled 
the slow progress by wliich the air escaped, and he saw the certainty that the catas- 
trophe, however inevitable, could not yet have really arrived. He waited for another 
swell to lift him on its summit, when, by " treading water," he raised his head and 
shoulders fairly above the surface of the sea, and strained his eyes in another vain 
effort to catch a glimpse of the wreck. He could not see it. In point of feet, the 
mate had swam much further than he had supposed, and was already so distant as to 
render any such attempt hopeless. He was fully a third of a mile distant from the 
point of his de]iarture. 

DLsappointed, and in a slight degree disheartened, Mulford turned, and swam in the 
direction of the sinking star. He now looked anxiously for the boat. It was time 
that it came more pl.ainly into view, and a new source of anxiety beset him, as he could 
discover no signs of its vicinity. Certain that he was on the course, after making a 
due allowance for the direction of the wind, the stout-hearted young man swam on. 
He next determined not to annoy himself b}' fruitless searches, or vain regrets, but 
to swim steadil}^ for a certain time — a period long enough to carry him a material dis- 
tance — ere he again looked for the object of his search. 

For twenty minutes longer did that courageous and active youth struggle with the 
waste of waters, amid the obscurity and solitude of midnight. He now believed him- 
self near a mile from the wreck, .and the star which had so long served him for a 
beacon was getting near to the horizon. He took a new observation of another of the 
heavenly bodies nigh it, to serve him in its stead when it should disappear altogether. 



THE REEF. 375 

and then he raised himself in the water, and looked abont ag-ain for the boat. The 
search was in vain. No boat was very near him, of a certainty, and the dreadful ap- 
prehension began to possess liis mind of perishing uselessly in that waste of gloomy 
waters. While thus gazing about him, turning his eyes in every quarter, hoping 
intently to catch some glimpse of the much-desired object in the gloom, he saw two 
dark, pointed objects, that resembled small stakes, in the water, within twenty feet of 
him. Mulford knew them at a glance, and a cold shndder passed through his frame, 
as he recognized them. They were, out of all question, the fins of an enormous shark 
— an animal that could not measure less than eighteen or twenty feet in length. 

It is scarcely necessary to say, that when our young mate discovered the proximity 
of this dangerous animal, situated as he was, he gave himself up for lost. He pos- 
sessed his knife, however, and had heard of the manner in which even sharks were 
overcome, and that, too, in their own element, by the skilful and resolute. At first he 
was resolved to make one desperate effort for life, before he submitted to a fate as 
horrible as that which now menaced him ; but the movements of his dangerous 
neighbor induced him to wait. It did not approach any nearer, but continued swim- 
ming to and fro, on the surface of the water, according to the known habits of the 
fish, as if watching his own movements. There being no time to be wasted, our young 
mate turned on his face, and began again to swim in the direction of the setting star, 
though nearly chilled by despair. For ten minutes longer did he struggle on, beginning 
to feel exhaustion, however, and always accompanied by those two dark, sharp, and 
gliding fins. There was no difliculty in knowing the position of the animal, and 
Mulford's eyes were oftener on those fins than on the beacon before him. Strange as 
it may appear, he actually became accustomed to the vicinity of this formidable 
creature, and soon felt liis presence a sort of relief against the dreadful solitude of 
his situation. He had been told by seamen of instances, and had once witnessed a 
case himself, in which a shark had attended a swimming man for a long distance, 
either forbearing to do him harm, from repletion, or influenced by that awe which 
nature has instilled into all of the inferior for the highest animal of the creation. He 
began to think that he was thus favored, and really regarded the shark as a friendly 
neighbor, rather than as a voracious foe. In this manner did the two proceed, nearly 
another third of a mile, the fins sometimes in sight ahead, gliding hither and thither, 
and sometimes out of view behind the swimmer, leaving him in dreadful doubts as to 
the movements of the fish, when Mulford suddenly felt something hard hit liis foot. 
Believing it to be the shark, dipjnng tor his prey, a slight exclamation escaped him. 
At the next instant both feet hit the unknown substance again, and he stood erect, the 
water no higher than his waist ! Quick, and comprehending every thing connected 
with the sea, the young man at once understood that ho was on a part of the reef where 
the water was so shallow as to admit of his wading. 

Mulford felt that he had been providentially rescued from death. His strength had 



376 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

been about to fail him, when he was thus led, unknown to hhnself, to a spot where his 
hfe might yet be possibly prolonged for a few more hours or days. He had leisui'e to 
look about him, and to reflect on what was next to be done. Almost unwittingly, lie 
turned in quest of his terrible companion, in whose voracious mouth he had actually 
believed himself about to be immolated a few seconds before. There the two horn-like 
fins still were, gliding about above the water, and indicating the smallest mo\ement of 
their formidable owner. The mate observed' that they went a short distance ahead of 
him, describing nearly a semi-circle, and then returned, doing the same thing in his 
rear, repeating the movements incessantly, keepmg always on his right. This convinced 
him that shoaler water existed on his left hand, and he ^^■adcd in that direction, 
until he reached a small spot of naked rock. 

For a time, at least, he was safe ! The fragment of coral on which the mate now 
stood, was irregular in shajje, but might have contained a hundred feet square in super- 
ficial measurement, and was so little raised above tlie level of the water as not to be 
visible, even by daylight, at the distance of a hundred yards. Mulford found it was 
perfectly <lry, however — an important discovery to him, as, by a close calculation he 
had made of the tides, since quitting the Dry Tortugas, he knew it must be near high 
water. Could he have even this small portion of bare rock secure, it made him, for the 
moment, rich as the most extensive landholder living. A considerable quantity of sea- 
weed had lodged on the rock, and, as most of this was also quite dry, it convinced the 
young sailor that the place was usually bare. But, though most of this sea-weed was 
dr}', there were portions of the more recent accessions there that still lay in or quite 
near to the water, which formed exceptions. In handling these weeds, in order to 
ascertain the facts, Mulford caught a small shell-tish, and, finduig it fresh and easy to 
open, he swallowed it with the eagerness of a famishing man. Never had food proved 
half so grateful to him as that single swallow of a very palatable testaceous animal. 
By feeling further, he found several others of the same family, and made quite as large 
a meal as, imder the circumstances, was probably good for him. Then, thankful for 
his escape, but overcome by fatigue, he hastily arranged a bed of sea-weed, drew a 
portion of the plant over his body, to keep him warm, and fell into a deep sleep that 
lasted for hours. 

Midford did not regain his consciousness xmtil the rays of the rising sun fell upon 
his eye-lids, and the genial warmth of the great luminary shed its benign influence over 
his frame. At first his mind was confused, and it required a few seconds to bring a 
perfect recollection of the past, and a true imderstanding of his real situation. They 
came, however, and the young man moved to the highest part of his little domain, and 
cast an anxious, hurried look around in quest of the wreck. A knowledge of the course 
in wliich he had swum, aided by the position of the sun, told him on what part of the 
naked waste to look for the object wliich he sought. God had not yet forsaken them ! 
There was the wreck ; or, it might be more exact to say, there were those whom the 



THE EEEF. 377 

remaiuing buoyancy of the wreck still upheld from ^hiking into the depths of the gulf. 
In point of fact, but very little of the bottom of the vessel actually remained above 
water, some two or three yards square at most, and that little was what seamen term 
nearly awash. Two or three hours must bury that small portion of the still naked 
wood beneath the surface of the sea, though sufficient buoyancy might possibly remain 
for the entire day still to keep the living from death. 

There the wreck was, however, yet floating ; and, though not visible to Mulford, 
with a small portion of it above water. He saw the four persons only ; and, what was 
more, they saw him. This was evident by Jack Tier's waving his hat like a man 
cheering. When Mulford returned this signal, the shawl of Rose was tossed into the air, 
in a way to leave no doubt that he was seen and known. The explanation of this early 
recognition and discovery of the young mate was very simple. Tier was not asleep 
when Harry left the wreck, though, seeing the importance of the step the other was 
taking, he had feigned to be so. When Rose awoke, missed her lover, and was told 
what had happened, her heart was kept from sinking by his encouraging tale and 
hopes. An hour of agony had succeeded, nevertheless, when light returned, and no 
Mulford was to be seen. The despair that burst upon the heart of our heroine was 
followed by the joy of discovering him on the rock. 

It is scarcely necessary to say how much the parties were relieved on ascertaining 
their respective positions. Faint as were the hopes of each of eventual delivery, the 
two or three minutes that svtcceeded seemed to be minutes of perfect happiness. After 
this rush of unlooked-for joy, 3Iulford continued his intelligent examination of sur- 
rounding objects. 

The wreck was fully lialf a mile from the rock of the mate, but much nearer to the 
reef than it had been the previous night. " Could it but ground on the rocks," thought 
the young man, " it would be a most blessed event." The thing was possible, though 
the first half hour of his observations told him that its drift was in the direction of the 
open passage so often named, rather than toward the nearest rocks. Still, that drift 
brought Rose each minute nearer and nearer to himself again. In looking round, 
however, the young man saw the boat. It was a quarter of a mile distant, with open 
water between them, apparenth- grounded on a rock, for it was more within the reef 
than he was himself. He nmst have passed it in the dark, and the boat had been left 
to obey the wind and currents, and to drift to the spot where it then lay. 

Mulford shouted aloud when he saw the boat, and at once determined to swim in 
quest of it as soon as he had collected a Uttle refreshment from among the sea-weeds. 
On taking a look at his rock by daylight, he saw that its size was quadrupled to the 
eye by the falling of the tide, and that water was l}"ing in several of the cavities of its 
uneven surface. At first he supposed this to be sea water, left bj' the flood ; but, re- 
flecting a moment, he remembered the rain, and hoped it might be possible that one 
little cavity, containing two or three gallons of the fluid, would turn out to be fresh. 
48 



378 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



Kneeling beside it, he ai)plied his lips in leverish haste, and drank the sweetest draught 
that had ever passed his lii:)s. Slaking his thirst, ^^■hich had begun again to be pain- 
fully severe, he arose with a heart overflowing with gratitude — could he only get Rose 
to that narrow and barren rock, it would seem to be an earthly paradise. Mulford 
next made his scanty, but, all things considered, sufficient meal, drank myderately after- 
ward, and then turned his attention and energies toward the boat, which, though now 
aground and fost, might soon float on the rising tide, and drift once more beyond his 
reach. It was liis first intention to swim directl}' i'or liis object; but, just when about 
to enter the watei-, he saw with horror the fins of at least a dozen sharks, which were 
j)rowling about in the deeper water of the reef, and almost encircling his hold. To 
throw himself in the midst of such enemies would be madness, and he stopped to 
reflect, and again to look about him. For the first time that morning, he took a survey 
of the entire horizon, to see if any thing were in sight ; for, hitherto, his thoughts had 
been too much occupied with Rose and her cora25anions to remember any thing else. 
To the northward and westward he distinctly saw the upper sails of a large ship, that 
was standing on a wind to the northward and eastward. As there was no port to 
which a vessel of that character would be likely to be botmd in the quarter of the Gulf 
to which such a course would lead, Mulford at once inferred it was the sloojJ-of-war, 
which, after having examined the islets, at the Dry Tortugas, :uid finding them 
deserte<l, was beating up, either to go into Key West, or to pass to the southward of 
the reef again, by the jjassage through which she had come as lately as the previous 
day. This was highly encouraging, and could he only get to the boat, and remove the 
party from the wreck before it sunk, there was now every prospect of a final escape. 








XXIV. 



THE OAK OPENINGS. 



In the month of June, of the year 184-7, tlie author of the Pathfinder made a 
pleasant excursion westward. The journey was not a long one, reaching only as 
far as Detroit, the prairies, and the beautiful open groves of southern Michigan. 
Beyond Seneca Lake, the ground, in its actual aspect, was quite new to him ; 
recollections of the journey taken through the same region, in earl}- youth, now 
giving additional interest to every mile of the way, as he moved along among 
well tilled lands — garden, orchard, and grain-field, all rich in full midsummer 
promise — and passed from one large and affluent town to another, where, forty 
years earlier, he had travelled through a wilderness. He had now reached his 
threescore years, but, full of vigor and spirit, still felt \indiminished the interest 
he had alwavs taken in the advaneino- movement of civilization. He saw Niagara 
again. Tlio sublime character of the cataract impressed him very deeply on this 
occasion ; it far surpassed his recollections, and, having now seen the most 
admired falls of Europe, he could better comprehend its dignity and grandeur — 
the out-pouring of great seas amid those ragged clifts. The idea of an Indian 
narrative, connected with Niagara, occurred to him ; he woiild have dated it a 
century earlier, and luxve carried a party of savages to Goat Island ere any bridge 
had been built, and while the whole adjoining country was still a forest. Would 
that the book had been written ! "What varied pictures of Niagara should we 
have had in its pages ; what wild interest of adventure would he not have thrown 
over its scenes ! With Buffalo and Detroit he was much pleased, from admi- 



380 • PAGES AND PICTURES. 

ration of their growtli and promise. But witli the beautiful flowery prairies and 
natural groves of Mic-liigan, he was quite charmed. Indeed, it would not be easy 
to say from which source he derived the greatest pleasure on this excursion — 
whether from the spirit of practical progress, or from the natural objects before 
him — the lakes, the cataracts, the prairies, and their groves. Here is a passage 
relating to this excursion : 

"To get an idea of Prairie Round, the reader must imagine an oval plain of 
some iive-and-twcnty or thirty thousand acres in extent, of the most surprising 
fertility, without an eminence of any sort ; almost without an inequality. There 
are a few small cavities, however, in which there are springs forming large pools 
of water that the cattle will drink. This plain, so far as we saw it, is now en- 
tirely fenced and cultivated. The fields are large — many containing eighty acres, 
and some one hundred and sixty ; most of them being in wheat. We saw several 
fields of this size in that grain. Farm-houses dotted the surfiice, with barns, and 
the other accessories of rural life. In the centre of the prairie is an " island" of 
forest, containing some five or six hundred acres of the noblest native trees we 
remember ever to have seen. In the centre of this wood is a little lake, circidar 
in shape, and exceeding a quarter of a mile in diameter. The walk in this wood, 
which is not an opening, but an old-fashioned virgin forest, we found delightful 
of a warm summer's day. One thing tliat we saw in it was characteristic of the 
country. Some of the nearest farmers liad drawn their manure into it, where it 
lay in large piles, in order to get it out of the way of doing any mischief. Its 
eifect on the land, it was thought, would be to bring too much straw !" 

Mr. Cooper was absent from home but a few weeks. One morning, not long 
after his return, passing, as usual, his leisure hours at the mountain farm, in 
overlooking his laborers, he observed a little skitf leaving a point on the opposite 
shore of the lake, and moving directly toward an opening on his own lands, 
made originally for the purpose of rolling logs from the heights above, but 
which was now occasionally used as a landing-place. The adjoining shores on 
the western side of the lake were scarcely peopled for some miles from the 
village, with tlie exception of a small inn, a baiting place for teamsters, and here 
and there a log cabin beyond. Mr. Cooper believed the boatman to be coming 
over the lake on some errand to himself, connected with hemlock timber, with 
which lie was then supplying the new plank road on the opposite bank. Presently 
a stranger, with a tin pail in his hand, made his ajspearance, coming slowly up 
the winding road to the hill-top, where Mr. Cooper was engaged with his M'ork- 
men. Approaching the party, he inquired if a large swarm of bees had not been 
seen somewhere in that direction ; he had lost a fine swarm, which had left the 



THE OAK OPE KINGS. 381 

Live early in tlie morning, several days before, and, after looking for them in vain 
for a while, he had just learned that a farmers wife in his neighborhood had 
seen them cross the lake in the direction of the Chalet. No such swarm liad 
been seen by the workmen at the Clialet ; one of them remarked, however, that 
bees had been " very plenty about the blossoms for a day or two." Learning 
tills fact, the stranger began to look about him more closely, and, from the un- 
usual number of honey-bees coming and going about the flowering plants on 
the hill, he became convinced that his swarm was lodged somewhere within 
reach. A search for the lost bees began ; Mr. Cooper, who was much interested 
by the little incident, assisting the stranger in his task. The farm was belted by 
wood on all sides, while a young grove skirted the cliffs, and on the height a 
number of tall scattered trees, some charred and lifeless, others still in full 
vigor, showed the remains of the original forest. Tlie farmer from Ilighborough 
professed himself very knowing in the ways of bees ; boasted of liaving one of 
the largest "bee-sheds" in the country, running along two sides of his garden; 
he knew the trees in which the bees would be most likely to lodge, and accord- 
ingly he went directly toward those gaunt old oaks and elms on the hill-top, in 
some hollow of which he was convinced that tlie swarms had alighted. Rustic 
jokes passed at the cost of the stranger, who was asked by the workmen which 
of all the old trees, with straight, branchless trunks perhaps si.xty or eighty feet 
liigh, lie would most fancy to climb ; when he was ready, he must let them know, 
they would like to see the sight! Mr. Cooper had a word to say also: while 
wishing the search good success, he protested against receiving the treatment 
which a friend of his had lately met with — a pine tree, nearly two hundred feet 
high, and perhaps five hundred years old, having Ijeen. deliberately felled by 
some lawless fellow, for the sake of a swarm of bees which Iiad alighted on one 
of the topmost boughs. Tlie Higliborough farmer nodded his head, and declared 
that he did not mean to waste any time in climbing or in " chopping" that day, 
the weather was too warm ; he meant to call his bees down — tliat was jiis fasliion. 
And taking up his tin pail, he began to move about over a little spot of waste 
land, where many flowering plants grew at will ; here he soon found a honey-bee 
sipping from tlie cup of a rose raspberry; he professed to know at once the face 
of one of his own bees, "to say notliin' of the critter's talk," as he termed the 
buzzing of the wings. A glass taken from the pail was placed over it, a few 
drops of sweet honey having been previously tlirown into it ; the captive bee, 
after moving about uneasily- for a while, began to si^j the honey ; when its little 
bag was cpiite full, it was set at liberty, the course it took being carefully followed 
as far as the eye could reach. Again the farmer looked over the flowers for a 



382 PAGES A>!D P ICT U R-KS. 

second honey-bee, and one was soon found on a head of golden-rod ; the little 
creature was captured, fed with honey, and set at liberty as the first had been; 
the stranger placing himself, however, at a different position, and at an opposite 
point of the compass from that where he had first stood. When the bee had 
taken wing, its course was closely M'atched until it luid fl<iwii out of sight. In 
tliis way, some dozen bees were successively captured from the clover, or daisies, 
or wood flowers, found in mingled growth about the hill-top, until, at length, 
the seneral direction taken 1)V them aU, when set at lil)ertv, was discovered. 
This process of " lining the bees," or tracking them by an air-line to the natural 
hive, 2)roved that the farmer had been correct ; an old, half-charred oak stub, 
some foi-ty feet in height, with a single limb near the top, had been their alight- 
ing place; once beneath the tree, the little creatures might be seen flying about 
the blighted bough above. The stranger now went to his boat again, and brought 
a new hive to the hill-to]), placing it at a short distance from the old trunk where 
his bees had housed themselves; honey was sprinkled about the little doorway 
of the hive, flowering plants were gathered and strewn around, and some were 
placed in water to preserve them in freshness. The good nuin then withdrew to 
a little distance, and seated liimself on a stump, awaiting the result ; it was not 
long before a line of comnuinication was opened between the bee-eornpany above, 
and the hive with its store of hone}', and the flowering plants below ; and when 
the sun set, the bees had of their own accord taken possession of their new abode ; 
bv moonlight thev M'erc rowed across the lake, and placed on tlic shelf in the 
farmer's garden, beside the mother swarm they had left a few days earlier on 
their adventurous journey to the Chalet. 

This little incident interested Mr. Cooj^er very much, and in the course of the 
following autumn, while thinking over a new tale connected with tlie prairies 
of Michigan, lie determined that a " liee-liunter" shcndd l)e one of the principal 
characters. This book proved the last of a long series of Indian tales. In twelve 
diflerent works of the imagination, from the same pen, the savages had held 
positions niore or less prominent — among scenes of adventurous life in the Otsego 
hills, on the shores of the Ilorican, roaming over the far western j'l'airies, on the 
waters of Lake Ontario, among the forests of New York, and now among the oak 
groves of Michigan. The last of the series is full of interest, original in inci- 
dent, and diflerent in spirit tVoni those which preceded it. In the principal char- 
acter, we see how the holy and peaceful influences of Christianity are made at 
length to triumph over that dearest passion of the American savage, the spirit of 
revenge. 

Tlie "Oak Openings"' was commenced on New Year's day of 1848, and written 



THE OAK O P K NM N G S . 



383 



in the course of tiie following winter and spring. A note, relating tu the first 
pages of the book, occurs in a brief diary kept by the writer during that year : 

" Saturday, January 1st, ISiS. — Read St. John. Xo church. "Weather very 
mild, though snow fell in the night. Walking very bad, and I paid no visits out 
of the family. Had *"*, ***, ***, ***, and ***, at dinner. A very merry 
evening witli the young people. Played chess with my wife. Wrote a little in 
' Oak Openings ' to begin the year with." 




-...K^S- 




THE COUNCIL FIRE. 



The Indians already present were not seated. They stood in groups, conversing, 
or stalking across the arena, resembling so many dark and stately spectres. No sound 
was heard among them — a circumstance that added largely to the wild and suj)er- 
natural aspect of the scene. If any spoke, it was in a tone so low and gentle, as to 
carry the sound no further than to the ears that were listening; two never spoke at 
the same time, and in the same group, while the moccasin permitted no foot-fall to be 
audible. Nothing could have been more unearthly than the picture presented in that 
little, wood-circled arena, of velvet-like gi'ass and rural beauty. The erect, stalking 
forms, half naked, if not even more ; the swarthy skins ; the faces fierce in the savage 
conceits which were intended to strike terror into the bosoms of enemies ; and the glit- 
tering eyes that ftiirly sparkled in their midst, all contributed to the character of the 
scene, which le Bourdon rightly enough imagined was altogether much the most re- 
markable of any he had ever been in the wav of witnessing. 

Our two spectators might have lieen seated on the fallen tree half an hour, all of 
which time they had been gazing at what was passing before their eyes ; with posi- 
tively not a human sound to relieve the unearthly nature of the picture. No one 
spoke, coughed, laughed, or exclaimed, in all that ))eriod. Suddenly, every chief stood 
sill, and all the faces turned in the same direction. It was toward the little gate-way 
of the rill, which being the side of the arena most remote from the bee-hunter and the 
corporal, lay nearly in darkness as respected them. With the red men it must have 
been ditferent, for they all appeared to be in intent expectation of some one from that 
quarter. Nor did they have to wait long ; for, in half a minute, two forms came out 
of the obscurity, advancing with a diirnified and deliberate tread to the centre of the 



THE COUNCIL FIRE. 335 

arena. As these new-comers got more within the intiuenee of the flickering hgiit, le 
Bourdon saw tliat they were Peter and Parson Amen. The first led, with a slow, im- 
posing manner, while the other followed, not a little bewildered with what he saw. It 
may be as well to explain here, that the Indian was coming alone to this place of 
meeting, when he encountered the missionary wandering among the oaks, lookhig for 
le Bourdon and the corporal, and, instead of endeavoring to throw ofi" this unexpected 
companion, he quietly invited him to be of his own party. 

It was evident to le Bourdon, at a glance, that Peter was expected, though it was 
not quite so clear that such was the fact as regarded his companion. Still, respect for 
the great chief prevented any manifestations of surprise or discontent, and the medicine- 
man of the pale faces was received with as gr.ave a courtesy as if he had been an invited 
guest. Just as the two bad entered the dark circle that formed around them, a young 
chief tlirew some dry sticks on the fire, which, blazing upward, cast a stronger light on 
a row of as terrifically-looking countenances as ever gleamed on human forms. This 
sudden illumination, with its accompanying accessories, had the effect to startle all the 
white spectators, though Peter looked on the whole with a calm like that of the leafless 
tree, when the cold is at its height, and the currents of the wintry air are death-like 
still. Nothing appeared to move him, whether expected or not ; though use had 
probablj- accustomed liis eye to all the aspects in which savage ingenuity could ofier 
savage forms. He even smiled, as he ma<le a gesture of recognition, which seemed to 
salute the whole group. It was just then, when the fire burned brightest, and when 
the chiefs pressed most within its influence, that le Bourdon perceived that his old ac- 
quaintances, the head men of the Pottawattamies, were present, among the other chiefs 
so strangely and portentously assembled in these grounds which he had so long pos- 
sessed almost entirely to himself. 

A few of the oldest of the chiefs now approached Peter, and a low conversation 
took jjlace between them. What was said did not reach le Bourdon, of cotirse ; for it 
was not even heard in the dark circle of savages who surrounded the fire. The effect 
of this secret dialogue, however, was to cause all the chiefs to be seated, each taking 
his place on the grass ; the whole preserving the original circle around the fire. For- 
tunately for the wishes of le Bourdon, Peter and his companions took their stations 
directly opposite to his own seat, thus enabling him to watch every lineament of that 
remarkable chief's still more remarkalile countenance. Unlike each, and all, of the 
red men around him, the face of Peter was not painted, except by the tints imparted 
by nature ; which, in his case, was that of copper a little tarnished, or rendered dull by 
the action of the atmosphere. The bee-hunter could distinctly trace every lineament ; 
nor was the dark, roving eye beyond the reach of his own vision. Some attention was 
given to the fire, too ; one of the younger chiefs occasionally throwing on it a few 
dried sticks, more to keep alive the flame, and to renew the light, than from any need 
of warmth. One other purpose, however, this fire did answer ; that of enabling the 
49 



386 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

young chiefs to light the pipes that were now prepared ; it seldom occurring that the 
chiefs thus assembled without smoking around their councU fire. 

As this smoking was just then more a matter of ceremony than for any other 
purpose, a whilf or two sulKced for eaeli chief; the smoker passing the [lipe to his 
neighbor as soon as he had inhaled a few putfs. The Indians are models of jjropriety 
in their happiest moods, and every one in that dark and menacing circle was permitted 
to have his turn with the pipe, before any other step was taken. There were but two 
pipes lighted, and mouths being numerous, some time was necessary in order to com- 
plete this ceremony. Still, no sign of impatience was seen, the lowest chief having as 
much respect paid to his feelings, as related to this attention, as the highest. At 
len<;th the pipes completed their circuit, even Parson Amen getting, and using, his turn, 
when a dead pause succeeded. The silence resembled that of a Quaker meeting, and was 
broken only by the rising of one of the principal chiefs, evidently about to speak. The lan- 
guage of the great Ojeliway nation was used on this occasion, most of the chiefs present 
belonging to some one of the tribes of that stock, though several spoke other tongues, 
English and French included. Of the three whites present. Parson Amen alone fully 
comprehended all that was said, he having qualified himself, in this respect, to preach 
to the tribes of that people ; though le Bourdon understood nearly all, and even the cor- 
poral comprehended a good deal. The name of the chief who first spoke at this secret 
meeting, which was afterward known among the Ojebways by the name of the " Coimcil 
of the Bottom Land, near to the spring of gushing water," was Bear's Meat, an a}i]iella- 
tion that might denote a distinguished hunter, rather than an orator of much renown. 

" Brothers of the many tribes of the Ojebways," commenced this personage, " the 
Great Spirit has permitted us to meet in council. The Manitou of our fothers is now 
among these oaks, listening to our words, and looking in at our hearts. Wise Indians 
will be careful what they say in such a presence, and careful of what they think. All 
should be said and thought for the best. We are a scattered nation, and the time is 
come when we must stop in our tracks, or travel beyond the sound of each other's cries. 
If we travel beyond the hearing of our people, soon will our children learn tongues 
that Ojebway ears cannot understand. The mother t.alks to her child, and the child learns 
her words. But no child can hear across a great lake. Once we lived near the rising sun. 
Where are we now? Some of our young men say they have seen the sun go down in the 
lakes of sweet water. There can be no hunting-grounds beyond that spot ; and, if we 
would live, we must stand still in our tracks. How to do this, we have met to consider. 

" Brothers, many wise chiefs and braves are seated at this council fire. It is pleasant 
to my eyes to look upon them. Ottawas, Chippeways, Pottawatt.amies, Menominees, 
Hurons, and all. Our Father at Quebec has dug up the hatchet against the Yankees. 
The war path is open between Detroit and all the villages of the red men. The 
prophets are speaking to our people, and we listen. One is here ; he is about to speak. 
The council will have but a single sense, which will be that of hearing." 



THE COUNCIL FIRE. 387 

Thus concluding, Bear's Meat took his seat, in the same composed and dignified 
manner as that in which lie had risen, and deep silence succeeded. So ])rofound was 
the stillness, that, taken in connection with the dark lineaments, the lustrous eyeballs 
that threw back the light of the fire, the terrific paint, and the armed hands of every 
Avarrior present, the picture might be described as imposing to a degree that is seldom 
seen in the assemblies of the civilized. In the midst of this general but portentous 
calm, Peter arose. The breathing of the circle grew deeper, so much so as to be 
audible, the only manner in which the intensity of the common expectation betrayed 
itself. Peter was an experienced orator, and knew how to turn every minntiag of his 
art to good account. His every movement w:is deliberate, his attitude highly digni- 
fied — even his eye seemed eloquent. 

Oratory ! what a power art thou, wielded, as is so often the case, as much for evil 
as for good. The very reasoning that might appear to be obtuse, or which would be 
overlooked entirely when written and pubUshed, issuing from the mouth, aided by the 
feelings of sympathy and the impulses of the masses, seems to partake of the wisdom 
of divinity. Thus is it, also, with the passions, the sense of wrong, the appeals to 
vengeance, and all the other avenues of human emotion. Let them be addressed to 
the cold eye of reason and jidgment, in the form of written statements, and the mind 
pauses to weigh the force of arguments, the justice of the appeals, the truth of facts ; 
but let them come upon the ear aided by thy art, with a power concentrated by sym- 
pathy, and the torrent is often less destructive in its course than that of the whirlwind 
that thou canst awaken ! 

" Chiefs of the great Ojebway nation, I wish you well," said Peter, stretching out 
his arms toward the circle, as if desirous of embracing all present. " The ilanitou 
has been good to me. He has cleared a path to this spring, and to this council fire. I 
see around it the faces of many friends. Why should we not all be friendly ? Why 
should a red man ever strike a blow against a red man ? The Great Spirit made us of 
the same color, and placed us on the same hunting-grounds. He meant that we should 
hunt in company ; not take each other's scalps. How many warriors have fallen in 
our fiimily wars ? Who has counted them ? Who can say ? Perhaps enough, had 
they not been killed, to drive the pale-faces into the sea !"' 

Here Peter, who as yet had spoken only in a low and barely audible voice, suddenly 
paused, in order to allow the idea he had just thrown out to work on the minds of his 
listeners. That it was producing its effect was apparent by the manner in which one 
stern face turned toward another, and eye seemed to search in eye some response to 
a query that the mind suggested, though no utterance was given to it with the tongue. 
As soon, however, as the orator thought time sufficient to impress that thought on the 
memories of the listeners had elapsed, he resumed, suffering his voice gradually to in- 
crease in volume, as he warmed with his subject. 

" Yes," he continued, " the Manitou has been verv kind. Who is the Manitou ? 



388 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

Has any Indian ever seen liim ? Every Indian lias seen him. No one can look on the 
hunting-grounds, on the lakes, on the j^'airies, on the trees, on the game, without see- 
ing his hand. His face is to be seen in the sun at noon-day ; his eyes in the stars at 
night. Has any Indian ever heard the Maniton ? When it thunders, he speaks. When 
the crash is loudest, then he scolds. Some Indian has done wrong. Perhaps one red 
man has taken another red man's scalp !" -> 

Another pause succeeded, briefer, and less impoising than the first, but one that 
sufficed to impress on the listeners anew the reat evil of an Indian's raising his hand 
against an Indian. 

" Yes, there is no one so deaf as not to hear the voice of the Great Spirit when he 
is angry," resumed Peter. " Ten thousands of buffiilo bulls, roaring together, do not 
make as mucli noise as his whisper. Spread the prairies, and the openings, and the 
lakes, before him, and he can be lieard in all, and on all, at the same time. Here is a 
medicine-priest of the pale-faces ; he tells me that the voice of the Manitou reaches 
into the largest villages of his people, beneath the rising sun, when it is heard by the 
red man across the great lakes, and near the rocks of the setting sun. It is a loud 
voice ; woe to him vvho does not remember it. It speaks to all colors, and to every 
people, and tribe, and nation. 

" Brothers, that is a lying tradition which says there is one Manitou for a Sac, and 
another for the Ojebway — one Manitou for the red man, and another for the pale-face. 
In this, we are alike. One Great Spirit made all ; governs all ; rewards all ; punishes 
all. He may keep the Happy Hunting-Grounds of an Indian separate from the white 
man's Heaven, for he knows that their customs are different, and what Avould please a 
warrior would displease a trader ; and what would please a trader would disjileasc a 
warrior. He has thought of these things, and has made several places for the spirits 
of the good, let their colors be what they may. Is it the same with the jjlaces of the 
spirits of the bad ? I think not. To me it would seem best to let t/iem go together, 
that they may torment one another. A wicked Indian and a wicked pale-face would 
make a bad neighborhood. I think the Manitou will let them go together. 

" Brothers, if the Manitou keeps the good Indian and the good ])ale-face apart in 
another world, what has brought them together in tliis ? If he brings the bad spirits 
of all colors together in another world, wliy should they come together here, before 
their time ? A place for wicked spirits should not be found on earth. This is wrong ; 
it must be looked into. 

" Brothers, I have now done : this pale-face wishes to speak, and I have said that 
you would hear his words. When he has spoken his mind, I may have more to tell 
you. Now, listen to the stranger. He is a medicine-priest of the white men, and says 
he has a great secret to tell our people — when he has told it, I have another for their 
ears, too. Mine must be spoken when there is no one near but the children of red 
clay." 



X-^ rv-- 




XXV. 

THE SEA LIONS. 



Fkosi tliu day when the little Ariel first sailed into view, and dropped her 
anchor in that gloomy bay of the German Ocean, Avlierc, at a later liour. Long 
Tom and herself were to close their career together, many a noble ship had been 
launched and sailed by the same master liand. Who, indeed, shall call over the 
names of all the vessels bearing his flag^ Never admiral of the Ocean Sea held 
so gi'cat a fleet under command ! Proud men-of-war are here, ihmi the lofty 
three-decker to the light gun-boat, fighting his battles; merchantmen of every 
r'lg — brig, bark, schooner, and yacht — come and go, amid storm and tempest, with 
swift and skilful mana?nvre, at his will ; the liglit felucca flies wing-and-wing 
over the blue Mediterranean ; the bark canoe glides over the lake, steals along 
the shadowy forest stream, or the reedy shore, doing his bidding. And how 
many brave and generous hearts, how many gallant spirits, are moving about 
those decks ! ."What deeds of high adventure are wrought among them ! "What an 
atmosphere of picture and poetry lights np eye and arm, sail, and spar, and flag! 
Could he have gathered liis full fleet together, and sailed at their head into port, 
that would ha\-e been, indeed, a gallant nautical gala, fllling the })roudest harbor 
in the land. And his ships are all from the best yards, well commanded, skil- 
fully ]>iloted. The poetical light which lingers about them is warm with reality; 
their iron anchors hold as firm a grasp of the bottom as those of the heaviest hulk 
that can be found in the harbor to-day. 

During thirty long years his ships were coming and going over the high seas, 
good people ashore still following their movements with more or less of interest. 
But now we behold the last of that numerous fleet. His nautical pictures began 



390 P -^ '-^ K '"^ A N P PIP T T^ R E S . 

with that craft esjjecially Amerieaii, the schooner ; and iii this, the latest of his 
inarine writings, the interest is also thrown about two schooners, each hearing the 
name of "The Sea Lion," and hoth sailing from home waters on a voyage of 
daring adventure, into far distant seas toward the southern jiole. 

In his early married life, Mr. Cooper had paid repeated visits, during the 
summer months, to a relative of Mrs. Cooper, living on one of the islands off the 
eastern shore of Long Island. Tliis gentleman led a sort of semi-aquatic life, 
which liad great atti-actions for a joung man still a seaman at heart. His estate 
covered an island of sonic size, inhabited by his own family and dependents only, 
and bearing the pleasing name of Slielter Island ; and all communications with 
the main land were carried ou by boats of different kinds. Here, cruising, fishing, 
shooting — and your true Long Islander of the old school was almost invariably a 
sportsman, and a good shot — Mr. Cooper liad passed many a jileasant hour, re- 
membered with jjleasure through life. Familiarity with that part of tlie country 
now induced him to send abroad his two sealers from those waters. 

Tlie nautical plot of the book is pecnliar, and is followed by the reader with 
mucli interest, the two rival schooners sailing in seai'ch of a very valuable but 
mysterious sealing-ground in the Antarctic Ocean. The whole spirit of the book, 
the history of tlie schooners, the course of their daring commanders, and, indeed, 
all the characters appearing in the narrative, are thoroughly American. The old, 
luu'd-fisted miser and religious formalist, Deacon Pi'att, an important figure in the 
book, will be found well drawn throughout. Mary, his niece, the heroine of the 
story — though one dislikes that and^itious Avord when applied to a sweet, natural 
person like herself — is very pleasing ; we readily love her, and we respect her 
truthful purity, and tlie endm-ing strength of her afiections. While the outer move- 
ment of the plot is connected with the two schooners, there is a secret and a deeper 
spirit at work at the lieart of the narrative. That gentle Mary, so sweetly ]n-etty, 
so simply good, is oversliadowed by a sorrow deep and true ; she moves sadly 
beneath the low porch, about the great orchard, the thrifty garden, of the Long 
Island farm. Eoswell Gardiner, the captain of " The Sea Lion," owned by the 
miserly deacon, loves Mary; the girl has given him her whole heart with that 
fulness and that fidelity of aftection belonging to simple, truthful, unworldly 
natures like hers. But his wife she cannot be; there is a chasm between them. 
The religious education of young Gardiner has given him opinions directly at vari- 
ance — as Mary, by her simple good sense, knows luit too M'ell — with the spirit of 
true Cliristianity. Wliere the young girl worships, with child-like jjiety — Mdiere 
the vast majority of the Christian world has worshipped, in devout and lowly 
adoration, and in living faith, for nineteen centuries — there the young man stands 



THE SEA LIONS. 391 

coldly erect, with covered head, scanning, doubting, debating; attempting, with the 
wretched inconsistency of human pride, to extinguish, with one hand, the light 
he iipholds with the other — a light acknowledged by liiniselt" as a revealed gift 
from on high ; daring, as it were, with liis feeble, puny, sinful arm, to hold the 
Heavens in a balance ! But this cold, soulless creed of Gardiner's is his by luck- 
less birthright only. Too honest to disavow it, even for the sake of his love, he is 
yet willing to be convinced of error, if error he can l)e made to see. Mary, 
though sad, still prays ; and Mary ho2)es. The young man sails on his daring- 
voyage; he reaches his mysterious bourne; and here, in those distant icy regions, 
comparatively alone with his Maker, amid shipwreck, and disaster, and suffering, 
his mind is enlightened by the fulness of truth. 

Through lite the religious convictions of the author of " The Pathfinder" had 
been clear and sincere. He not unfrecpieutly spoke on sacred subjects, and always 
with reverence. He ever yielded a full and honest assent to the great doctrines 
of Christianity. Doubt and scepticism would seem never, for a moment, to have 
darkened that clear nund, that fraidv spirit, that upright heart. But, while 
through life he had never doubted, while he had ever acknowledged, ever 
revered, he had not until a comparatively late day fully submitted to those sacred 
influences. In the little parish church, however, which he had taken so much 
pleasure in improving ; whose interests he had so faithfully and liberally upheld ; 
in whose behalf he served at intervals as vestryman or warden for nearly forty 
years, and from whose sacred worship, when under his own roof, he was so rarely 
absent ; here he had been gradually learning lessons the most precious while 
reverently joining in those devotions which he ever felt and acknowledged to be 
beautiful, sublime, holy. Eteriuil truths rose more clearly before him — filled a 
larger space in his heart and mind. The sorrows and disappointments of this 
life assumed their real character ; he learned to look above them, beyond them. 
It was in this frame of mind that, in the year IS-tO, " The Sea Lions" was written. 
The point of religious doctrine coimected with the narrative was one on which 
Mr. Cooper was frequently heard to speak with reverence, and the utmost fulness 
of conviction. To his clear mind, the positive denial of that one holy doctrine 
must inevitably be followed by the essential rejection of the whole system of 
Christianity ; he considered that absolute infidelity was to a degree more capable 
of defence, less entirely inconsistent with itself, less at variance witli its own 
assertions, than the doctrine which, in "The Sea Lions," he leads the young sailor 
to reject. 

The book was Avritten in the winter season, at a moment when the severe frosts 
of the Highlands may have given greater strength to his descriptions of the ice- 



392 



PAGES AND PICTURES. 



berg aiitl tlie snowdrift. Had the many deeply interesting volumes relating to 
the arctic seas which we have all lately I'ead lieen written at that day, the author's 
(lescrij)tions would no doubt have received numy an additional detail. Very 
possibly the departure of Sir John Franklin on his ill-fated expedition — a recent 
event at the date of " The Sea Lions" — may have induced the writer to turn his 
attention to similar scenes, and led him to launch the last of his own imaginary 
fleet into the waters of those mysterious polar seas. 



^— ^ ^ 





SEALER'S LAND. 



It was an enterprising and manly tiling for a little vessel like the Sea Lion to steer, 
■with an undeviating course, into the mysterious depths of the antarctic circle — mys- 
terious, far more in that day than at the present hour. But the American sealer 
rarely hesitates. He has very little science, few charts, and those oftener old than new, 
knows little of what is going on among the savans of the earth, though his ear is 
ever open to the lore of men like himself, and he has his mind stored with pictures of 
islands and continents that would seem to have been formed for no other purpose 
than to meet the wants of the race of animals it is his business to pursue and to 
capture. Cape Horn and its vicinity have so long been frequented by this class of men, 
that they are at home among their islands, rocks, currents, and sterility ; but, to the 
southward of the Horn itself, all seemed a waste. At the time of which we are 
writing, much less was known of the antarctic I'egions than is known to-day ; and even 
now our knowledge is limited to a few dreary outlines, in which barrenness and ice 
compete for the mastery. Wilkes and his competitors have told us that a vast frozen 
continent exists in that quarter of the globe ; but even their daring and perseverance 
have not been able to determine more than the general fact. 

We should be giving an ex.aggerated and false idea of Roswell Gardiner's charac- 
ter, did we say that he steered into that great void of the southern ocean in a total 
indifference to his destination and objects. Very much the reverse was his state of 
mind, as he saw the high land of the cape sink, as it might be foot by foot, into the 
ocean, and then lost sight of it altogether. Although the weather was fine for the 
region, it was dark and menacing. Such, indeed, is usually the case in that portion 
60 



394 PAGES AND PICTURES. 

of this globe, which appeai-s to be the favorite region of the storms. Although the 
wind was no more than a good breeze, and the ocean was but little disturbed, there 
were those symptoms in the atmo.sphere and in the long ground-swells that came 
rolling in from the south-west, that taught the mariner tlie cold lessons of caution. We 
believe that heavier gales of wind at sea are encountered in the warm than in the cold 
montlis ; but there is something so genial in the air of the ocean during summer, 
and something so chilling and rejiulsive in the rival season, that most of us fancy that 
the currents of air correspond in strength with the fall of the mercury. Roswell knew 
better than this, it is true ; but he also fully understood where he wiLS, and what he 
was about. As a sealer, he had several times penetrated as far south as the " Ne Plus 
Ultra" of Cook ; but it had ever before been in subordinate situations. This was the 
first time in which he had the responsibility of command thrown on himself, and it was 
no more tlian n.-itural that he should feel the weight of this new burden. So long as 
the Sea Lion of the Vineyard was in sight, she had presented a centre of interest and 
concern. To get rid of her had been his first care, and almost alisorbing object ; but, 
now tliat she seemed to be finally' thrown out of his wake, there remained the 
momentous and closely approaching diflicultics of the main adventure directly before 
his eyes. Roswell, therefore, was thoughtful and grave, his countenance oflering no 
bad reflection of the sober features of the atmosphere and the ocean. 

Although the season was that of smnmer, and the weather was such as is deemed 
propitious in the neighborhood of Cape Horn, a feeling of uncertainty prevailed over 
every other sensation. To the southward a cold mistiness veiled the view, and every 
mile the schooner advanced a])peared like penetrating deeper and deeper into regions 
that nature had hitherto withheld from the investigation of the mariner. Ice, and its 
dangers, were known to exist a few degrees further in that direction ; but islands also 
had been discovered, and turned to good account by the enterprise of the sealers. 

It was truly a great thing for tlie Sea Lion of Oyster Pond to have thrown ofl" her 
namesake of the Vineyard. It is true both vessels were still in the same sea, with a 
possibility of again meeting ; but Roswell Gardiner was steering oin\ar(l toward a 
haven designated in degrees and minutes, while the other craft was most probably left 
to wander in uncertainty in that remote and stormy ocean. Our hero thought there 
was now very little likelihood of his again falling in with his late consort, and this so 
much the more, because the islands he sought were not laid down in the vicinity of 
any other known land, and were consequently out of the usual track of the sealers. 
This last circumstance was fully appreciated by our young navigator, and gave him 
confidence of possessing its treasures to himself, could lie only find the place where 
nature had hid them. 

When the sun went down in that vast waste of water which lies to the southward 
of this continent, the little Sea Lion had fairly lost sight of land, and was riding over 
the long, south-western ground-swell like a gull that holds its way steadily toward its 



SEALER'S LAND. 395 

nest. For m;iny liours her course had not varied half a ])oiiit, being as near as possible 
to south-south-"\vest, which kept her a Httle off the wind. No sooner, Jiowever, did 
night come to sliut in the view, than Roswell Gardiner went aft to the man at the helm, 
and ordered him to steer to the southward, as near as the breeze would conveniently 
allow. This was a material change in the direction of the vessel, and, should the 
present breeze stand, would probably place her, by the return of light, a good distance 
to the eastward of the j)olnt she would otherwise have reached. Hitherto, it had been 
Ros well's aim to drop his consort ; but, now it was dark, and so much time had 
already passed and been improved since the other schooner was last seen, he believed 
he might venture to steer in the precise direction he desired to go. The season is 
so short in those seas, that every hour is precious, and no more variation from a real 
object could be permitted than cLreumstances imperiously required. It was now gen- 
erally understood that the craft was making the best of her way toward her destined 
sealing-groimd. 

No material change occurred during the night, or in the course of the succeeding 
day, the little Sea Lion industriously holduig her way toward the south pole ; maldng 
very regularly her six knots each hour. By the time she was thirty-six hours from the 
Horn, Gardiner believed himself to be fully three degrees to the southward of it, and 
consequently some distance witliiu the parallel of sixty degrees south. Palmer's Laud, 
with its neighboring islands, would have been near, had not the original course carried 
the schooner so far to the westward. As it was, no one could say what lay before 
them. 

The third day out, the wind hauled, and it blew heavily from the north-east. Tliis 
gave the adventurers a great run. The blink of ice was shortly seen, and soon after 
ice itself, drifting about in bergs. The floating hills wore grand objects to the eye, 
rolling aad wallowing m the seas ; but they were much worn and melted by the wash 
of the ocean, and comparatively of greatly diminished size. It was now absolutely 
necessary to lose most of the hours of darkness, it being much too dangerous to run 
in the night. The great barrier of ice was known to be close at hand ; and Cook's 
" Ne Plus LTltra," at that time the great boundary of antarctic navigation, was near the 
parallel of latitude to which the schooner had reached. The weather, however, con- 
tinued very favorable, and after the blow from the north-east, the wind came from the 
south, chill, and attended with flurries of sno\\-, but sufliciently steady, and not so fresh 
as to compel our adventurers to carry very sliort sail. The smoothness of the water 
would of itself have announced the vicinity of ice : not only did Gardiner's calcula- 
tions tell him as juuch as this, but his eyes confirmed their results. In the course of 
the fifth day out, on several occasions when the weather cleared a little, glimpses were 
had of the ice in long mountainous walls, resembling many of the ridges of the Alps, 
though moving heavily under the heaving and setting of tlie restless waters. Dense 
fogs, from time to time, clouded the whole view, and the schooner was compelled, more 



396 P A G K S AND P I (" T U R K S . 

than oii(v> that day, to heave-to, in order to avoid running on the sunken masses of ice, 
or lields, of wliich many of vast size now began to make their ajipcarance. 

Notwitlistanding the dangers that surrounded our adventurers, they were none of 
tlieni so iusensible to the sublime powers of nature as to ^^ithhold their admiration 
from the many glorious objects which that lone and wild scene presented. The ice- 
bergs were of all the hues of the rainbow, as the sunlight gilded their summits or 
sides, or they wei-e left shaded by the interposition of dark and murky clouds. There 
were instances when certain of the huge frozen masses even apj^eared to be quite black, 
in particular positions and under peculiar lights ; while others, at the same instant, were 
gorgeous in their gleams of emerald and gold ! 

When the sun reappeared, on the morning of the sixth day after he had left the 
Horn, Roswell Gardiner believed himself to be far enough west for his jnu-poses. It 
now remained to get a whole degree further to the south, which was a vast distance in 
those seas, and in that direction, and would carry him a long way to the southward of 
the " Ne Plus Ultra." If there was any truth in Daggett, however, that mariner had 
been there ; and the instructions of the owner rendered it incumbent on our young man 
to attempt to follow him. More than once, that morning, did our hero regret he had 
not entered into terms with the Vineyard men, that the eflbrt might have been made in 
company. There was something so portentous in a lone vessel's venturing within the 
ice, in so remote a region, that, to say the truth, Roswell hesitated. But pride of pro- 
fession, ambition, love of Mary, dread of the deacon, native resolution, ami the luirdi- 
hood produced by ex]>erience in dangers often encountered and escaped, nerved him to 
the undertaking. It must be attempted, or the voyage would be lost ; and our young 
mariner now set about his task with a stern determination to achieve it. 

By this time the schooner had luffed up within a cable's length of the ice, along 
the margin of which she was running under easy sail. Gardiner believed himself to be 
quite as far to the westward as was necessary, and his present object was to find an 
opening, by means of which he could enter among the floating chaos that was spread, 
far and wide, to windward. As the breeze was driving the drifting masses to the 
northward, they became loosened, and more separated, every moment ; and glad enough 
was Gardiner to discover, at length, a clear spot that seemed to fivor his views. With- 
out an instant's delay, the sheets were flattened in, a jiull was taken on the braces, and 
away went the little Sea Lion into a passage that had a hundred fold more real causes 
of terror than the Scylla and Charybdis of old. 

One efiect of the vicinity of ice, in extensive fields, is to produce comparatively still 
water. It must blow a gale, and that over a considerable extent of open sea, to pro- 
duce much commotion among the fields and bergs, though that heaving and setting 
which has been likened to the respiration of some monster, and which seamen call the 
"ground-swell," is never entirely wanting among the waters of an ocean. On the 
present occasion, our adventurers were favored in this resjject, their craft gliding 



S E A L P: R ' S LAND. 397 

forward iiiiimpeded by any thing like opposing bilious. At the end of four hours, the 
schooner, tacking and waring when necessary, had worked her way to the southward 
and westward, according to her master's reckoning, some five-and-twenty miles. It 
was then noon, and the atmosphere being unusually clear, though never without 
fog, Gardiner went aloft, to take a look for himself at the condition of things around 
him. 

To the northward, and along the very passage by which the vessel ha<l sailed, the 
ice was closing, and it was far easier to go on than to return. To the eastward, and 
toward the south-east in particular, however, did Roswell Gardiner turn his longing 
eyes. Somewhere in that quarter of the ocean, and distant now less than ten leagues, 
did he expect to find the islands of which he was in quest, if, indeed, they had any ex- 
istence at all. In that direction there were many jiassages open among the ice, the 
latter being generally higher tium in the particular place to which the vessel had 
reached. Once or twice Roswell mistook the summits of some of these bergs for real 
mountains, when, owing to the manner in which the light fell upon them, or, rather, did 
not fall upon them directly, they appeared dark and earthy. Each titne, however, the 
sun's rays soon came to imdeceive him ; and that which had so lately been black and 
frowning, was, as by the touch of magic, suddenly illuminated, and became bright and 
gorgeous, throwing out its emerald hues, or perhaps a virgin white, that filled the be- 
holder with delight, even amid the terrors and dangers by which, in very truth, he 
was surrounded. The glorious Alps themselves — those wonders of the earth — could 
scarcely compete, in scenery, with the views that nature lavished, in that remote sea, 
on a seeming void. But the might and honor of God were there, as well as beneath 
the equator. 

For one whole hour did Roswell Qardiner remain in the cross-trees, having hailed 
the deck, and caused the schooner's head to be turned to the south-east, pressmg her 
through the openings as near the wind as she could go. The atmosphere was never 
without fog, though the vapor drifted about, leaving large vacancies that were totally 
clear. One spot, in particular, seemed to be a tavorite resting-jjlace for these low 
clouds, which just there appeared to light upon the face of the ocean itself. A wide 
field of ice, or, it were better to say, a broad belt of bergs, lay between this stationary 
cloud and the schooner, though the existence of the vapor early caught Roswell's at- 
tention ; and, during the hour he was aloft, conning the craft through a very intricate 
and tickUsh channel, not a minute passed that the young man did not turn a look 
toward that veiled spot. He was in the act of placing a foot on the ratlin below him, 
to descend to the deck, when he half-unconsciously turned to take a last glance at this 
distant and seemingly immovable object. Just then, the vapor, which had kept rolling 
and moving, like a fluid in ebullition, while it still clung together, suddenly opened, 
and the bald head of a real mountain, a thousand feet high, came unexpectedly into 
view ! There could be no mistake ; all was too plain to admit of a doubt. There, 



39S P A Cr E S AND PICTURES. 

beyond all question, was land ; and it was doubtless the most western of the islands 
described by the dying seaman. Every thing corroborated this conclusion. The lati- 
tude and longitude were right, or nearly so, and the other circumstances went to 
confirm the conjecture or conclusion. Daggett had said that one island, high, moun- 
tainous, ragged, and bleak, but of some size, lay the mo?t westerly in the group, while 
several others were within a few miles of it. The last were lower, much smaller, and 
little more than nakeil I'oeks. One of these last, however, he insisted on it, was a vol- 
cano iu activity, and that, at intervals, it emitted flames, as well as a fierce heat. By his 
account, however, the party to which he belonged had never actually visited that vol- 
canic cauldron, being satisfied with admiring its terrors from a distance. 

As to the existence of the land, Koswell got several pretty distinct and certain 
views, leaving no doubt of its character aud position. There is a theory which tells us 
that the orb of day is surrounded by a luminous vapor, tlie source of heat and light, 
and that this vapor, being in constant motion, occasionally leaves the mass of the planet 
itself to be seen, forming what it is usual to term the "spots on the sun." Resembling 
this theory, the fogs of the antarctic seas rolled about the mountain now seen, with- 
drawing the curtain at times, and permitting a view of the striking and majestic object 
within. Well did that lone aud nearly barren nuiss of earth aud rock merit these ap- 
pellations ! The elevation has alrea'ly been given ; and a rock that is nearly perpen- 
dicular, rising out of the ocean for a thousand feet, is ever imposing and grand. This 
was rendered so much the more so by its loneliness, its stable aud stern jjosition amid 
floating and movmg mountains of ice, its brown sides and bald summit, the latter then 
recently whitened with a fall of pure snow, and its frowning and fixed aspect amid a 
scene that might otherwise be said to be ever in motion. 

Roswell Gardiner''s heart beat with delight when assured of success in discovei'ing 
this, the first great goal of his destination. To reach it was now his all-absorbing 
desire. By this time the wind had got round to the south-west, and was blowing quite 
fresh, bringing him well to windwanl of the mountain, but causing the icebergs to drift 
in toward the land, and placing an impassable barrier along its western shore. Our 
young man, however, remembered that Daggett had given the anchorage as on the 
north-eastern side of the island, where, according to his statements, a little haven would 
be found, in which a dozen craft might lie in security. To this quarter of the island 
Gardiner consequently endeavored to get. 

There was no opening to the northward, Init a pretty good channel was before the 
schooner to the southward of the group. In this direction, then, the Sea Lion was 
steered, and by eight bells (four in the afternoon) the southern point of the largest 
island vv'as doubled. The rest of the group were made, and to the infinite delight of all 
on board her, abundance of clear water was found between the main island and its 
smaller neighbors. The bergs had grounded, ajipareutly, as they drew near the group, 
leaving this large bay entirely free from ice, with the exception of a few small masses 



SEALER'S LAND. 399 

that were floating through it. These Ijodies, whether tielii or berg, were easily 
avoided ; and away the schooner went with flowing sheets, into the large basin formed 
by the diflerent members of the group. The smoke of a volcano arose from a rock to 
the eastward, that appeared to be some three or four miles in circumference, and which 
stood on the eastern side of the great basin, or some four leagues from Sealer's Land, 
as Daggett had at once named the principal island. This was, in fact, about the breadth 
of the main basin, which had two jirineijial passages into it, the one from the south, 
and the other from the north-east. 

Once within the islands, and reasonably clear of all ice, it was an easy thing for 
the schooner to run across the basin or great bay, and reach the north-eastern extremity 
of Sealer's Land. As the light would continue some hours longer, Roswell caused 
a boat to be lowered and manned, when he pulled at once toward the spot where it 
struck him tlie haven must be found, if there were any such place at all. Every thing 
turned out as it had been described by Daggett, and great was our young man's satis- 
faction, when he rowed into a cove that was little more than two hundred yards in 
diameter, and which was so completely landlocked as not to feel the influence of any 
sea outside. In general, the great difliculty is to land on any of the antarctic rocks, the 
breakers and surf opposing it ; but, in this spot, the smallest boat cotild be laid with 
its bows on a beach of shingles, without the slightest. risk of its being injured. The lead 
also annonnceil good anchorage in about eight fathoms of water. In a word, this little 
haven was one of those small basins that so often occur in mountainous islands, where 
fragments of rock appear to have fallen from the principal mass as it was forced up- 
ward out of the ocean, as if jjurposely intended to meet the wants of mariners. 

Nor was the outer bay, or the large basin formed by the entire group, by any 
means devoid of advantages to the navigator. From north to south this outer bay was 
at least six leagues in length, while its breadth could not much have fallen short of four. 
Of course, it was muct more exposed to the winds and waves than the little harbor 
proper, though Roswell was struck with the great advantages it oflered in several es- 
sential particulars. It was almost clear of ice, while so much was floating about outside 
of the circle of islands ; thus leaving a free navigation in it for even the smallest boat. 
This was mainly owing to the fact that the largest island had two long, crescent-shaped 
capes — the one at its north-eastern, and the other at its south-eastern extremity — giving 
to its whole eastern side the shape of a new moon. The harbor just described was to 
the southward of, or within the north-eastern cape, which our young master at once 
named Cape Hazard, in honor of his chief mate's vigilance ; that ofiicer having been the 
first to point out the facilities j)robably oflered by the formation of the land for an 
anchorage. 

Though rocky and broken, it was by no means diflicult to ascend the rugged banks 
on the northern side of the harbor, and Gardiner went up it, attended by Stimson, who 
of late had much attached himself to the person of his commander. The height of 



400 PAGES AXD PICTURES. 

this barrier above the -svaves of the ocean was but a little less than a hundred feet, and 
when the summit was reached, a common exclamation of surprise, not to say delight, 
broke from the lips of both. Hitherto not a seal of any sort had been seen, and Gardi- 
ner had felt some misgiWngs touching the benefits that were to be derived from so 
much hardship, exposure, and enterprise. All doubts, however, vanished the instant 
he Grot a siarht of the northern shore of the island. This shore, a reach of several miles 
in extent, was fairly alive with the monsters of which he was in search. They lay in 
thousands on the low rocks that lined that eotire side of the island, basking in the 
Sim of the antai'ctic seas. 

"While on the rocks, Koswell took such a survey of the localities as might enable 
him to issue his orders Jiereafter with discretion and uitelligence. The schooner was 
already making short tacks to get close in with the island, in obedience to a signal to 
that effect ; and the second mate had pidled out to the entrance of the little haven, 
with a view to act as pilot. Before the captain had descended from the summit of 
the northern barrier, the vessel came in under her jib, the wind being nearly aft, and 
she dropped two anchors in suitable spots, making another flying moor of it. 

General joy now Uliiminated every face. It was, in itself, a great point gained to 
get the schooner into a perfectly safe haven, where her people could take their natural 
rest at night, or during their watches below, without feeling any apprehension of being 
crushed in the ice ; but here was not only security, but the source of that wealth of 
which they were in quest, and which had induced them all to encounter so many 
])rivations and so much danger. The crew landed to a man, each individual ascend- 
ing to the summit of the barrier, to feast his eyes on the spectacle that lay spread in 
such affluent abundauce along the low rocks of the northern side of the island. 




V 



APR 5 1903 



LIBRARY OF CONGBESS 



I 111 '11 I" ill i|ini:''rl'l"""l'""" '" ^ I 

015 775 499 3 W ^ 



